


Apply Some Pressure

by goldenbootshersh



Series: The Other Man [2]
Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Cheating, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, Older Woman/Younger Man, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 127,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenbootshersh/pseuds/goldenbootshersh
Summary: 'What happens when you lose everything? You just start again, start all over again'After Layla French's life is turned upside down by the ultimate betrayal, she finds herself at square one. No husband. No home. And no Harry Styles? That's still to be determined.





	1. How?

Like Will's had been, Rose's flat was quiet and still when I finally managed to get out of the car and go inside. I considered waking her up, but I wasn't sure I was ready to tell anyone about what had just happened.

About finding my husband in bed with his sixty-four-year-old business partner.

About said husband being in love with his sixty-four-year-old business partner.

And about the same husband knowing of my own affair with Harry.

I still needed time to wrap my head around it all before I told anyone else.

Needing something to dull the pain in my chest, I searched the kitchen cupboards and found a half-full bottle of spiced rum. After pouring myself a glass, I went back to my sofa bed, got under the covers, and cried. Grief and loneliness washed over me, and I enjoyed the burning sensation in my throat as I swallowed down the dark liquid. It warmed and comforted me, and allowed me a glimpse of why my mother became an addict. When there's no joy in your life, it's easy to reach for the things that give you a fake feeling of happiness.

On the bed, my phone lay next to me, lighting up every few seconds with missed calls, texts, and voicemail notifications from either Will or Terry. Their names on my screen brought new pain, a fresh application of salt in the wound with each new buzz. Their excuses, lies, and justifications were of no interest to me. The damage was done. I couldn't get the image of them, blissfully asleep, out of my head. I'd felt like I was intruding on them, in my own home, in my own bed! It would have been bad enough to find him in bed with another woman, but finding him in bed with another man somehow seemed so much worse. I didn't know if Will was straight and happened to fall for a man, or if he was bisexual, or if he was fully gay and I'd unknowingly helped keep him in his closet. I didn't know, and I needed to know, but that would have to come later when everything didn't feel like a bad dream.

I couldn't get my brain to shut up. My head was ready to explode with scenarios and theories, each more outlandish than the previous. As I steadily worked my way through the bottle, I questioned everything.

Had they been together the entire time Will and I were married?

Did everyone else know but me?

Would Rose not be surprised at all when I told her, having suspected it all along but too scared to say something?

Did they often sleep in our bed?

When I came back from Ibiza, they'd been arguing - had Terry stayed in the house all week? Had I interrupted a lovers spat?

Question after question rolled around my head until I wanted to scream. I knew Will was the only person who could answer all my questions, but I couldn't see myself being in the same room as him any time soon.

I also couldn't get his revelation that he'd known about me and Harry out of my head either. How long had he known? Had it been his plan all along to set us up? Or had Harry been in on it and played along with wanting to be with me? Was there meant to be a point where Will was supposed to catch us and I'd be disgraced and thrown out with nothing?

No. The latter scenario wasn't possible. Harry may not have been my favourite person at the moment, and his recent actions were questionable, but I did know him well enough to know that he would never do that. At least, I hoped he wouldn't. We'd had a genuine connection - the sex alone was testament to that - and I was sure he had better things (and people) to do than seduce someone's wife simply because he was asked to, let alone carry that seduction on for six months. He hated Will - he'd done a poor job of concealing that - so I doubted he was in on some elaborate plot to ruin my life.

I was trapped in my own head, and the rum wasn't helping like I'd hoped it would. Laying down and pulling the covers over my head, I stared at the underside of the duvet and waited for my friends to wake up.

As I'd expected, Rose leapt straight into action as soon as I filled her in on what happened. I waited for Dee to leave before spilling everything, pretending to be asleep until I heard the door close. Dee would never laugh or judge, but I already had reservations over telling her about Harry. My trust in anyone was now shattered, and I didn't know who I could feel safe around anymore. I would tell her eventually, but until I felt less broken, Rose was the only one I told.

"You can stay with me as long as you need to," she said softly, prying the empty glass I'd forgotten I was holding from my hands and replacing it with tea. "You practically live here at the moment anyway."

"I don't want to be in the way though. I'll work something else out as soon as possible."

"Don't be silly, Layla. Like I said, you stay as long as you need to." Climbing into bed next to me, she shook her head and whispered, "Terry?"

"I can't get my head around it either," I shrugged. "Like, I had some suspicions that Terry wasn't straight, but this is honestly the last thing I expected. I would have said Will was having an affair with you before Terry!"

"Fuck, Lil! I would have, too!" She tapped her head and muttered, "Need to get my gaydar fixed."

We both started to laugh, suddenly finding the whole situation so bizarre and highly amusing. Will was always talking about women he found attractive, joking about threesomes with Rose and me, and with the benefit of hindsight, it screamed overcompensation. I'd tried to think of hints: intense man crushes, the entirety of ABBA's back catalogue, a fondness for musicals. But none of the stereotypes seemed to apply, and I felt some relief that it hadn't been glaringly obvious and I was blind to it all.

"Have you heard from the other one?" Rose asked, voice disapproving for having even brought Harry up.

I shook my head and checked my phone to make sure, there were a lot of messages from Will and Terry, and one from my boss, Celia. I'd called her earlier in the day, and explained what had happened. Thankfully she'd understood completely that I would be taking a day or two off, and was messaging to reassure me that everything was fine and to see how I was doing. But nothing from Harry, just the ones he'd sent the previous evening, begging me to talk to him.

"No, and I don't want to," I lied. "I don't think talking to him would help."

"Not even to tell him that Will knows about the two of you?"

Shrugging, I scoffed and opened up Harry's messages again. "You're supposed to be stopping me from contacting him while I'm emotional and vulnerable."

"Well don't, then!" Rose reached across and snatched the phone from my hand, stuffing it in her pocket. "You can have it back tomorrow once you're head is clearer and you've had some sleep."

For the rest of the day, my mood swung from finding everything hilarious to being distraught. Rose tried her best to keep up with my rollercoaster of emotions, but it was hard enough for me and I was experiencing them. We'd be laughing about something, and suddenly the laughter would turn to tears. I'd had little to no sleep, and it was wreaking havoc with my already emotionally battered body, so by the time we settled for sleep, I was exhausted.

For that first night, I slept in Rose's bed. I was afraid my nightmare would make its grand return, hitting me with some new traumatic detail that would destroy any grip on sanity I had left. Laying my head down on my pillow, I expected slumber to evade me. For the questions and scenarios to resume their continuous looping, but other than a little voice noting I hadn't thought about Harry for a couple of hours, I managed to drift off to sleep almost instantly.

•

Harry as a whole faded to the bottom of my list of priorities. There would be moments where I felt all alone in my misery that I did crave him, fighting temptation to reply to the messages I had ignored after the show, but I never did. I couldn't handle the rejection if he had blocked my number once more, or if he read them but didn't reply. My heart was fragile, and though I missed him, everything felt too raw to cause myself that agony once more.

Every day was a battle I faced, taking each step as it came: getting out of bed, eating breakfast, showering, going to work, not crying at work as I helped other people plan their weddings, getting home, eating dinner, going to bed, and repeat.

Not that they I really had a home. I had a suitcase full of clothes, and a sofa bed. I'd sleep in Rose's bed when she spent night's at Dee's. I was made to feel welcome - more than that really, I was made to feel like her home was my home. There was never any hint that I was intruding on her space. I was out most days and she worked most evenings so there really wasn't much chance of me getting under her feet. But with everything feeling like it was hurtling out of control, the first thing I wanted to find was my own place.

The problem, however, was that despite the fact I was essentially working full-time hours, everything was so damn expensive! Rose and I considered finding somewhere for both of us, but the novelty of living together was already wearing thin after a few weeks. That, on top of her loving where she lived and me wanting some independence, caused the topic to be brushed aside as a suggestion only to be brought back up if all other options were exhausted.

"What are you going to do?" Rose asked as we left a three bedroom flat share. The other occupants were two guys, and though the flat itself was lovely and within my budget, I had almost heard their erections grow when Rose entered. They'd proceeded to ignore me and focus on her the entire time, which I was used to but it didn't exactly make me want to live with them. "Because if you live there, I'm never coming to see you. Just know that."

It had been the fourth place I'd visited that day, and the ninth that week. My hope of finding somewhere reasonable was quickly running out, and I was already exhausted by mini-Hitlers who would initial each egg in the fridge, flats that were probably a health hazard thanks to mould, and guys who'd spend the entire time trying to get into Rose's or my knickers. It made me wonder how anyone managed to find somewhere to live in London, and understand why Rose lived alone.

"I'm running out of options," I sighed, digging my sunglasses from my bag and putting them on, "but I'd rather live in a skip than live with Ant and Dec back there."

"Don't blame you!" Rose replied, looked around the street we stood on, pouting thoughtfully before turning to me. "Pub?"


	2. Point of View

Rose's suggestion of going to the pub was the perfect solution to the feeling of disappointment I felt in seeing yet another bad flat. We drove back to her place then walked the short distance to her local pub with day-drinking on the agenda.

Choosing to sit outside, I sipped my ice cold lemonade and lifted my face to the sun. As I let the warmth wash over me for the first time in what felt like forever, I accepted that nothing was fixed, but the sunshine made me hopeful that everything would work out somehow.

"I promise I'll be out of your hair soon," I sighed, feeling my shoulders relax.

"You're honestly fine, Lil," Rose replied after taking a large gulp of wine and letting out a satisfied groan. "Like I keep saying, stay as long as you need to."

"I know, and honestly I don't know what I'd have done without you in the past month. I just want my own space so I can actually start to move on."

She nodded her understanding and shrugged. "I know you don't want to, but maybe you should consider speaking to Will. He owes you somewhere to live at the very least."

I wasn't entirely against the idea. He'd kept me from working and earning my own money, so it made sense that he would at least help out. We hadn't spoken since I'd left. I'd ignored all his calls, texts, and visits to Rose's. He'd even been to my workplace but, thankfully, I'd been at a wedding. Rose had been the one who'd called to tell him not to come to my office again or his mother would be getting a call from me. He couldn't understand that what I needed was space, but that had been enough for him to get the message, and the barrage eased up to just a single, daily voicemail pleading his case.

"I dunno. I'm not that desperate yet."

"Then stop stressing yourself out," my friend smiled, pushing her wine glass towards me so I'd take a sip. "He wants your forgiveness. I'd be very surprised if he refused to help."

I shook my head and gave in, picking up her glass and tasting the ice cold white wine. It was more bitter than I liked, so I reached for the bottle and poured some into my lemonade. I tasted the mix, preferring the now sweeter, refreshing drink, and continued. "I'm doubtful he'd help, but I will try. Just... Just not yet."

We sat in silence for a little while, enjoying the chatter of the conversation of the people around us. I checked my phone and was considering messaging Will to sort out a time to meet when Rose spoke.

"So," she started nervously. I looked up at her and knew there was something coming and I wasn't going to like it. "I ran into Harry last night."

Trying to pretend I wasn't bothered, I nodded for her to continue. "And?"

"Uh... He asked how you were and said that he missed you."

"Right." My heart was thumping hard in my chest. I couldn't let myself believe he did miss me, but the fact he'd said it to her was a comfort. "Did you tell him about me and Will?"

"Yeah, he said he'd heard rumours you weren't together but wasn't sure if they were true or not." She was holding back something and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know what it was.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Well, we talked for quite a while and — I can't believe I'm actually saying this — I think you should contact him." I stared at her, mouth agape in shock.  "Yeah, yeah! I know! I've spent the entire time calling him a shitbag, but I think he really has feelings for you, Layla." I let out a snort, but she continued. "Honestly, I kept trying to walk away from him because I had work to do, but he wouldn't bloody let me! Even if I did manage to get away, once I was back in his reach, he'd corner me again and ask a billion questions."

"The thing is Rose, he knows where I am. He knows I'm not with Will. If he was really that interested, he'd have called to see if the rumours were true." Feeling the positivity I'd felt slipping away, I reached inside my bag to grab my purse. I needed more wine. "Another bottle?"

"Lil—" I could see her concern that she'd pissed me off and her regret of even telling me about their conversation. I wasn't pissed off — I was worried by how easy it would be to just fall into his life again if given half the chance.

"I just need to sort my life out before I contemplate dealing with Harry, who — if I may remind you — told me he loved me then disappeared to shag a supermodel." Standing up, I shrugged my shoulders and let out a long, tired sigh. "Maybe in a month or two, but for now I just need a night off from thinking and finding somewhere to live."

**•**

"Will French speaking."

Hearing my husband's voice made me pause. He sounded formal and business-like, not knowing who was on the other end. I'd called his direct line at the office, knowing the extension number off by heart. I'd hoped he wouldn't answer the call, that he was in a meeting or with a client, but to my dismay he picked up the call on the third ring. Meaning that I would finally have to hold a conversation with him, and finally arrange when we could meet to discuss the future of our marriage.

"It's Layla." Voice clipped, I'd spent the previous hour rehearsing what I would say and trying my best not to sound nervous.

"Layla!" he exclaimed. "I'm so glad you called. Are you okay?"

I took a deep breath and doodled my anxiety in the margins of the notepad I'd written my script in. Archimedes spirals and cubes with thick, heavy lines distracted my hands temporarily and eased the shake as I spoke.

"Well, I mean, I've been better, William," I replied tartly, annoyed at his cheek of pretending like he gave a shit how I was. "Anyway, I guess it's about time we meet up and talk about where we go from here."

Will cleared his throat, and went silent. On the other end of the line, I heard pages turning as he checked his diary. He had a habit of sticking to keeping appointments and important plans in an old-fashioned book, sticking by the opinion that 'if it was good enough for my father, it's good enough for me.'

"I'm free Monday evening."

With no enquiry into whether that would be suitable for him, I attempted to start things as I meant to go on. I had spent far too long going by my husband's rules, planning my life around his events and functions, but that wasn't how I wanted to things to be anymore. We would meet on Monday, or not at all.

"Uh... Oh, erm, yes, okay." Sounding suitably thrown off, Will finally sighed. "Okay, Monday it is."

"Great, see you the—"

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Well..." he paused before asking, "... What about Terry? Do you want to see him, too?"

Putting my head in my hand, I once again saw their naked bodies tangled in bed, asleep and peaceful. Will and Terry. Two people who, despite trying to get me to talk to them, were probably relieved at finally being able to be together. For all their proclamations of guilt, they were still happy they could sleep in the same bed without fear of me catching them. All while I picked up the scattered shards of my life and tried to put it back together with chewing gum and missing pieces. Did I want to see Terry? I didn't particularly want to see either of them, but for the sake of ripping off the plaster, I thought it best to just get it over with.

Stomach burning, I answered coldly. "I want to go over our marriage, but seeing as it turns out he's been a part of it, then fine."

I hung up as he started to tell me he was looking forward to us talking. His snivelling and grovelling sickened me. It was false and barely touched the tip when it came to making up for his treatment of me during our marriage. I'd been belittled, bullied, and threatened. He'd taken advantage of how broken I was, how fragile a person I was, that I lacked guidance from a loving family. There had been nobody to warn me that the rich, handsome, successful man who was giving me attention and lavishing me gifts, might not be all he seemed. No father to warn him that if he hurt me, there'd be consequences. No mother to tell me of her own close call with a man who'd dazzled her but turned out to be the wrong man. I'd taken Will at face value and believed him when he said he loved me.

When he'd proposed, I'd never felt happiness like it. I'd known it was coming, having found the ring a few days before, but I was still surprised when he got on one knee and asked me to be his wife. I didn't feel worthy of the proposal, genuinely believing that he deserved someone of his own pedigree, someone who also knew the right people and had had the right upbringing. I didn't fit in with his circle. I didn't have my own family estate, or go to school with this person or that. I didn't know how to ride a horse or go hunting. Will had told me that was what he liked about me: I was different and I'd lived a real life outside of his world. And I'd believed him.

He used my feelings of unworthiness to his advantage and conducted his affair, knowing it would go unnoticed and unmentioned. I was the perfect cover for his secret — a secret he didn't want to bury, but just hide so he could continue it without question. For all my loudness and false confidence, he saw that really I was meek and desperate for love. I'd wanted to be loved, to be protected, to have the sense of security I'd never felt before. For that, I'd been easily manipulated into doing as I was told.

With the marvellous benefit of hindsight, I could see that what Will had liked about me was that I was naive and gullible.

My thoughts turned to Harry (as they often did ever since my conversation with Rose) and if I would've had the courage to leave my marriage before I met him. I'd been jaded by the way I'd been treated, unsurprised and accepting that that was just the way my husband was, but had I been strong enough to leave? To get a job, even?

It riled me to give credit to him. His behaviour had left him unworthy of that credit, but as much as I hated it, he had been the beginning of a change in me. He had made me stronger, allowing me to see myself in a new, better light. Despite my weakness for him, he had given me a strength and belief that maybe I didn't have to just sit back and accept being someone's doormat. I was better than that.

(The irony hadn't escaped me that Harry had then proceeded to walk all over me himself.)

Regardless, Harry had made me feel good — amazing, in fact — and had I not been given the reminder that I could feel that way, it was likely I'd have stayed put. Not acting as a cover for two people I loved who couldn't be together openly, but because I was too scared to leave.


	3. Ever Fallen In Love With Someone

Nothing about the road had changed.

The houses still looked the same. I saw my neighbours arriving home from work at their usual time. Fandango the cat who lived opposite us was sat on the top step having his evening grooming session.

Nothing was different. Nobody's life had changed by my absence. Yet, as I sat in the car staring up at my old home, nothing felt the same either.

My knees shook as I climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. I still had my key, but once again I wanted to set in place that things were about to change, that I would not be coming back to that house. The door finally opened, and I wasn’t in the slightest bit surprised to be greeted by an obviously-nervous Terry.

Neither of us said anything for a few, painfully-long seconds. We just stared at each other, wondering how on Earth were we going to do this. I hated how comfortable he looked in the home I’d worked so hard to make. He suited the place more than I ever did, and as I walked into the hall, I knew I didn’t belong there anymore — if I ever had.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?” Terry asked quietly, looking towards the stairs, willing his lover to appear and save him from the awkwardness. Awkward was not a word I ever associated with Terrance Daniels, and yet here he was, scratching the back of his head nervously and wishing he was anywhere else but here with me.

“No, I just want to get this over with.”

As he nodded, I saw him flinch at my cold manner. We had always been so close, but now we were strangers with only one thing in common: We’d both had sex with the same man. Not something I’d ever judge anyone for doing normally — to each his own, after all — but it had been without my knowledge, and that’s what turned my stomach. Nobody thought to tell me, to ask what I wanted, to consider that I might have something to say on the matter.

Determined not to get sidetracked by emotions, I reestablished my control of the situation by walking into the living room and sitting down without waiting to be offered. Terry hovered nervously by the archway while I checked my phone, pretending to send an important message while really just sending a collection of emojis to Rose indicating that I was, in fact, shitting myself. I enjoyed watching his discomfort, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. It made me feel a tiny bit better.

Finally, Will appeared and I looked at him for the first time in a very, very long time. He looked suitably remorseful with his slightly bowed head, sad eyes, and sunken shoulders. But, as I’d guessed would be the case, it was obvious that really he was happy. They both were. Stood together in the wide archway, they looked well-suited. As they exchanged sweet, supporting looks, telling each other 'you can do this' without words, there was an enviable aura of lightness about them that came from finally being together. If I hadn’t been so angry, I’d have thought it was adorable.

Again, I was offered a drink and again, I declined. I didn’t know how long my strong and well-coping facade I had going would last; the quicker I got out of there, the better.

“So, I guess we should talk about what happens now,” Will said, moving to sit in the armchair closest to where I was sitting as Terry sat in the one furthest.

I wanted to talk business and get things in place so I wouldn’t end up on the streets like my mother. However, I was distracted by the two men who betrayed me and broke my heart. Shifting to the edge of my seat, I turned to Will and leant forward.

“Was it happening the entire time we were married?” I demanded.

He shifted in the chair, stroked the stubble on his chin, and answered quietly. “On and off.”

“But Lil, it wasn’t when you were first together.”

Hearing Terry’s voice, I whipped my head around before I could control myself. “I’m not talking to you!”

He clamped his mouth shut, and I slowly turned back to Will as he touched my knee so I’d return my focus on him. Suddenly, I wasn’t playing nice. I wanted answers to all the questions which had plagued me for weeks. My volatile reaction to Terry speaking without being addressed told them exactly how I wanted to be treated: carefully and with honesty.

“He’s right though, Layla.”

“How long?”

Will swallowed nervously and looked down at his hands. When he raised his gaze back to me I saw the real William French, probably for the first time ever. His mask was completely off and despite me hardly being my most warm or inviting, he exposed his vulnerability to me and began to speak.

"I've been in love with Terry since I was 17, not that anything happened for a long time. But when it did, I wanted to be open and be with him, because I knew he was...” Again, there was that soft look on his face as he spoke about the man he loved, “...is my soulmate.”

I wanted to scoff, to mock him for his cheesiness, but I couldn’t. Even in my anger and hurt, I couldn’t make fun of how he felt.

“We even told my parents. Dad wasn’t exactly thrilled, but it’ll be no surprise to you that the real problem was Mum.” He rolled his eyes and I wished he’d done a bit more of that when we talked about her. "She threatened to disown me completely, to ruin Terry’s reputation until he was forced to quit the company, and generally make it impossible to be together. Dad went along with what she said, and because I was scared and spoilt, I let her win. And then I met you..."

"...And you decided to marry someone she hated as much as she hated Terry."

“I’ll be honest, that was a bonus. I genuinely liked you though, the first person I'd liked since Terry. I was nursing a broken heart, and you were the best medicine I could ask for.” This time, I did scoff a hard snort of air from my nose in disgusted disbelief. “I’m serious! Not to stick a label on myself, but I’m not gay. I genuinely fancied you like mad! I never lied about that. I just… God, and you won’t believe me when I say I don’t say this to hurt you because of the horrible shit I’ve done and said, but he’s the love of my life.”

Sitting back into the sofa heavily, I tried to process what he’d said. So, he was bisexual. Okay, I could make sense of that, but the ‘I loved you, but not as much as I loved him’ was a real kick in the teeth. Before, I’d thought everything was a lie, but turns out, some of it was real — I just had to enjoy trying to figure out what exactly had been.

“What happened, then?” I asked, the vitriol in my voice gone. I just felt sad.

“We fought it for a long time, until after we got married,” Will had the decency to look shame-faced as he fiddled with the golden tassels on the cushion next to him and avoided my eye. “I just couldn’t lie to myself anymore. My dad died, and then we were working together all the time! I’d come home and you’d be here — gorgeous and loving and the perfect wife — but I wanted him.”

I gripped my stomach and felt an agonising lurch of nausea. Both men moved to see if I was okay, but I held up a hand to stop them from coming any closer. I wanted the truth, no matter how much it hurt, and by Christ, did it hurt. Humiliation pricked my skin, and I felt like the trash Will had often said I was.

Terry got up and disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with a glass of water. Placing it in front of me, he warily sat down next to me.

I was relieved that he didn’t try to touch me, but just quietly told me, “Layla, we love you. So very much.”

"Lil, I'm truly sorry for what I've done,” Will slid off the chair, and fell to his knees so he could kneel in front of me. Looking tearfully up at me, he whispered, “For the way I’ve treated you, for lying to you, for everything. If I could take it all back, I would."

Sympathy was creeping in. Taking myself out of the equation, it genuinely must have been terrible to live a lie, to pretend you're something you're not. Granted, it turned out he wasn’t repulsed by having to touch me or be with me, but as he’d said, I wasn’t who he wanted. I felt sorry for them both, but Will should never have brought me into it. Or they should have given me the option of deciding if I wanted to be part of their secret. I loved them so much, I more than likely would have happily played the role of wife so they could be together.  I looked at them both, obviously wracked with guilt. They looked far guiltier and more remorseful than I’d felt over my affair with Harry. My thoughts turned to him.

“And Harry?”

Will nodded to Terry and shrugged. “He worked it out. The fact Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off you at golf despite Mia trying her best to flirt with him was a real giveaway. I didn’t believe it at first, but I admit that I had already suspected he had a crush on you, so I was annoyed you were so rude to him. So rude that I flat-out disagreed with Tel’s suspicions until the movie premiere.”

“But you left the premiere?” I frowned, remembering the burning embarrassment I’d felt reading that message in front of Harry and his mum.

“I was outside. We were getting in the car and I saw you both leave the lift together.”

“Shit! I knew I shouldn’t have gotten in that lift with him,” I muttered, stunned that rather than being angry, Will was smiling softly. “I’m expecting you to be a bigger dick about this, I won’t lie.”

“Listen! I was pissed off, wasn’t I?” he asked Terry, who nodded with an eye roll. “You looked so well-suited, and considering I thought you hated him, you were smiling at him in a way I hadn’t seen you do in a very long time. I was selfish, and I was worried your affair would somehow expose mine. Then, Terry’s reminders that I had no place getting upset at you seeking comfort from someone else sank in, and I turned a blind eye.”

“This is blowing my mind,” I muttered, slumping back against the sofa again and cursing. “What a fucking mess of lies!”

The three of us sat in silence, the two men letting me take everything in and waiting to see how I would end up reacting, ready to scramble away if I erupted with rage again. I just found the whole thing perversely amusing. My mentally abusive husband was bisexual. All his rage toward me was stemmed from having to hide his long-term affair with a man twice his age. To top it off, he practically encouraged my own affair with his nineteen-year-old pop star client. You couldn't make shit like this up. It was better than the best soap opera!

“Have you spoken to him?” I asked suddenly. “To Harry?”

“Not since the Wembley after-party.” Rising from the floor, Will went to the drinks cabinet and grabbed three glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He placed them on the coffee table with a clunk, and proceeded to pour each of us a glass. “He wasn’t around much, but we put that down to him being sick. Though I figured seeing you rattled him a little.”

“Jesus Christ!” I laughed, ignoring his offering of a drink. “You straight up knew all along! Why did you make me go? Whatever we had ended — you must have known that, too.”

“That was my fault,” Terry grimaced, half from his admission and half from the burn of the Penderyn whiskey. “I don’t know why, but you’d been so depressed and I thought perhaps you could rekindle what you had.”

Struggling to believe what I was hearing, I grabbed my drink which Will had still been holding and took a large gulp. Now, my husband’s lover was telling me he had tried to act as some sort of matchmaker. I wished I’d asked Rose to come with me because when I relayed the whole thing to her later, I wouldn’t entirely know if I was telling the truth.

“You know I’ve been depressed because of that prick, right?” I asked, pointing to Will. “Not just because of Harry.”

“I know.”

Sighing, I swirled the liquid in my glass and tried to decide what I wanted to do. I still felt hurt and betrayed. I was angry to a point, but it wasn’t fuelling me like before. Sitting between two people who were so obviously in love, who wanted to be together, it seemed so pointless to hold on to my hatred. I raised the glass to my lips, swallowed the rest of its contents and imagined the burn in my stomach to be me letting go of the upset over Will and Terry.

“Y’know, I'm never going to forget what you both did. This was too big a lie to get past it entirely. But... in a way, I understand why you would see no other option." Looking at them both, I exhaled loudly and shook my head. "I just wish you'd been honest with me sooner. I wish you hadn’t punished me for a lie I didn’t know I was keeping."

Will started to cry openly — something I hadn’t really ever seen him do, certainly not since his father had died. We’d been close then, bonding over the loss of a parent. I’d thought they weren’t close because of me, because I wasn’t the standard of woman he was expected to marry. Now I knew it was because the relationship was fractured by him being in love with his father’s best friend.

Taking a deep breath, he regained his composure and managed to speak. "I nearly told you so many times — especially when I found out about you and Harry — but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I was afraid you'd hate me because despite everything and the way I've treated you, I do love and care for you."

He was up out of his seat again, back to kneeling in front me and taking my hands in his. "I'm so sorry, Layla."

He was distraught, and had it been anybody else, I would be uncomfortable by such a raw show of emotion, but he was still my husband. Letting my own tears flow, I relented and wrapped my arms around him. He started to sob and clung to me tightly. I stood by what I said: I'd never forget what he had done, but there was nothing I could do to change any of it. If I held onto the bitterness, it would swallow me up and I would never be able to move on with my life.

The three of us talked a little longer. I brought up that I was looking for somewhere to live, and without having to ask, Will said he would help in any way he could. Then he brought up the matter of divorce and suggested that when we started the proceedings, I should be the petitioner. We’d both been unfaithful, but his infidelity had been going on for a lot longer. At least with his admission, the divorce wouldn't be dragged out. It would be a quick and clean break. I told him I didn’t want anything but help with somewhere to live and to keep my car. He agreed and told me to just let him know what I needed.

As I left, I hugged the two men and enjoyed the lightness I felt. Will and I had been more honest in one evening than we ever had in our entire marriage, and it was cathartic. Things were a long way from fixed, and I knew there would be bumps in the road as we involved lawyers, adding complications and mess, but as I loaded my refilled suitcase into the boot of my car, I felt a lot more positive than I had when I’d arrived.


	4. Books From Boxes

  
The old, sludge green door was hard to open. It had been on the surveyor’s report that it was an issue and that I’d more than likely need to replace it, but with a swift kick at the bottom, it opened.

“New door. Top of the list,” I grinned, leading Rose into the narrow hallway of my new home.

“And air fresheners,” she replied, wrinkling her freckled nose.

“Yeah, it’s a touch… musty,” I looked around as I grimaced and felt the same flutter of excitement I’d had when I’d first stepped into the house a month ago. “I love it though!”

It was a small, two-bedroom, end-of-terrace house in Kentish Town. It hadn’t been redecorated since the seventies, and there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t need to fix or revamp. Each room was enthusiastically colour themed: an olive green living room, a tangerine and brown dining room, a turquoise kitchen, a yellow bathroom (including the tub, sink, and toilet), and two pink bedrooms. There were questionable wallpapers in all the rooms, but especially the hallway. That was an attack on the retinas with purple and green psychedelic flowers. It would take a long time to get it how I wanted, but its old state meant I had gotten it fairly cheap for London, and most of all, it was something I could call mine.

“That’s it!” Rose beamed triumphantly, carrying a Japanese peace lily she’d named Paul with her into the living room where I stood surrounded by boxes. “Just tell me where to put this fella and everything is here!”

“Hmmm,” I grimaced before telling her to put him on the window sill so he could enjoy the sun. “How do I own so much stuff? I kind of forgot that I’d have to unpack it all. It barely looked like anything at Will’s.”

She looked around, and shrugged. “This place is quarter the size of his, to be fair. Look on the bright side, you won’t have to try fill all the space.”

“True, true.” Nodding, I opened a box and immediately closed it after seeing it was filled with books. I didn’t even have a bookshelf to put books on yet. “I need a break before we start unpacking. Shall I dig out the kettle and make some tea?”

“Sounds good to me,” Rose replied, letting down her hair that had been piled on top of her head and ruffling it so it fell perfectly down her chest. “Dee said she’s on her way. She’ll be about an hour.”

We left the front room and headed down the narrow hallway to the fair-sized kitchen at the back of the house. I unpacked the brand new kettle from its box and filled it with water before rummaging through a box sloppily labelled ‘kitchen,’ and digging out three cups. There was no fridge yet, so I’d had to fill the sink with cold water to keep the milk cool, so I shook the water off the bottle and placed it on the counter. I felt a sudden rise of warmth in my chest — I wasn’t a tea drinker, but even I appreciated the importance of making the first tea in my new home. It was a small, silly landmark that rebooted my excitement to get everything unpacked and start putting my stamp on the place.

“I want to put my bed up first, so I can just collapse on it later,” I yawned as I dropped tea bags into two of the cups and added sugar. “I’m a bit nervous to sleep here on my own.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ll probably be zonked before your head even hits the pillow,” Rose dropped onto one of the chairs and leaned her elbows on the table. “We’ll stay here with you if you want?”

“No,” I said as I walked over to the back door and opened it up. The room instantly felt less dank. The dust that hung in the air with no place to go now headed for the light and was quickly replaced with fresh air. “I’ll have to put on my big girl knickers and accept my independence!”

“Good girl,” she smiled. “I’m proud of you, Lil. I really am.”

“Don’t go all soft on me or else I’ll start blubbing. No crying today!” I turned my back to her as I felt my bottom lip wobble, focusing on the the tea I was making instead so I didn’t end up bawling.

Emotion passing, I picked up our teas and placed them on the table. I sat down, stretched out my legs, and exhaled. Rose held up her cup in a toast and I clinked mine against it.

“To a fresh start, and better things to come!”

**•**

“So, Layla, William tells me you went and got yourself a job.” Gulping down my mouthful Earl Grey tea, I became nervous under Verity’s cold, ice blue stare. She waved her gloved hand and fixed her face in disgusted puzzlement at the very idea of a ‘job.’ “Helping plan weddings, is that right?”

  
I’d agreed to help Will break the news of our divorce. Despite us being on reasonable terms, it was typical that he would use me as his shield. ‘Look what a terrible person she is, Mummy! I simply couldn’t stay married to her any longer.’ Placing my teacup back in its saucer, I forced a smile and tried to remain polite and poised.

“Yes, that’s right. It’s going swimmingly so far.” Ignoring the familiar bitter expression that her son had also perfected, I continued with enthusiasm. “We had a wedding just yesterday as a matter of fact, and it was beautiful! The bride wore a knee-length dress.”

Will shook his head in the corner of my eye, as his mother’s face twisted in disgust. We’d fought for weeks about my reluctance to wearing a floor-length wedding gown, with her insisting that my ‘background was causing enough scandal without walking down the aisle looking like a trollop.’ The dress I had wanted reached my calves and included a layered skirt underneath, but from the way my mother-in-law had described it to anyone who’d listen, I was wearing a wedding dress akin to that in a ‘Guns ‘n’ Roses’ music video. Growing tired of the constant complaining and nitpicking, I’d given in — of course — and let her have her own way. I never, ever let her forget about it, and I always took pleasure in bringing it up.

Suddenly, Verity stood up and smoothed the front of her turquoise dress before excusing herself to use the restroom. As soon as she was out of earshot, Will began to scold me.

“Listen, I appreciate what you’re doing for me, but please stop winding her up.”

“Excuse me! You’re the one telling her about my job.” Rolling my eyes, I looked around the elegant room and spoke before I could stop myself. “It’s strange, but Harry and I came here. The first time we met.”

“Oh… really?”

“I remember thinking about coming here with you and Verity as I walked through the lobby. Never imagined it would be where we told her we’re getting divorced.” Feeling his hand on my forearm, I turned to look at him. He didn’t say anything, just looked sad and guilty, his seemingly permanent expression these days. “I guess we’re about to ruin this place for her.”

“Nah, she’s always complaining about it. I’ll just start taking her to the Savoy instead.”

We both broke into naughty giggles, grasping onto any lightness that would make this conversation easier. I shushed him and cleared my throat as I saw the dreaded silver bonnet make its way back to our table. She was still an attractive woman with her trim and petite figure, and she had a soft, powdery texture to her face from her always-perfectly-done makeup. However, scorn and a husband who was of the right stock but had no interest in sticking with tradition had made her look as mean as she was on the inside. She resented giving her best years to her frivolous husband, who’d preferred rock concerts and evenings in a pub to operas and intellectual dinner parties. It was something I never expected to experience, but sat with my own husband who’d taken my best years, I actually sympathised with my mother-in-law. We’d both spent our adult lives battling, just in very different ways.

“Mummy,” Will started, adjusting his tie and swallowing. “Mummy, there’s something Layla and I need to tell you.”

“Are you pregnant?” She asked me sternly, and I was sure that had I been pregnant, the poor foetus would have evaporated into a poof of smoke having heard the cold, disgusted tone in its grandmother’s voice.

“No, Layla isn’t pregnant,” my husband cleared his throat again, and while I enjoyed watching him squirm, I also wanted this to be over with.

“Verity, your dreams are coming true! Will and I are divorcing.”

It seemed like the entire room fell silent, with nothing but the occasional clink of a spoon against china, or laughter flowing through from the bar. Will and I silently waited in anticipation, him glancing at me for a second to wordlessly express gratitude for taking the task from his hands. He hadn’t deserved my help, but it was all for my benefit, too.

“She better not be getting a single penny from you,” was Verity’s eventual answer. “That little whore doesn’t deserve a thing from you.”

Laughter burst from me, a loud guffaw at finally having her express what she thought of me. I’d known it all along, and she’d all but said it over the years, but she no longer felt the need to remain polite. I was the whore with no family, no money, and a poor education. It didn’t matter that I’d bowed to every whim and request, that I supported her son for years, or that I’d sacrificed any want of a career to keep them both happy. None of that mattered — I was scum to her, and I would always be scum.

“Lil,” Will warned, silencing me from launching the scathing attack I’d long wanted to give her. “Mother, stop. I have helped Layla buy a house, and that is all.”

“That’s all?!” She scoffed, turning to aim her poison at me, “I suppose you couldn’t believe your luck when he fell for you, a gullible knight in shining armour coming to save you from the gutter. Now you have the cheek to get a divorce! What for?! Another man I bet!”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, visualising pouring the contents of the teapot over her perfectly coiffed head, and held back the urge to tell her exactly why her precious son and I were separating. As angry and hurt as I was with Will and Terry, I knew it wasn’t my place to out them as a couple. So I sat and listened with poise as she spat her vitriol, letting the nastiness wash over my head and taking comfort from the large chance that this would be the last time I’d have to see her. Eventually, when he could see others on tables nearby start to look at the elderly woman whose face was turning puce, Will stopped her.

“This is something we’ve both decided on, Mother. We’re both going to be a lot happier apart.”

“Your father’s spinning in his grave right now, mark my words. You continue to be a disappointment to us despite everything we’ve done for you.” Hitting her son where it hurt with two sharp jabs, she watched with a sick glee as he lay down his sword and battled her no further. “You’re a disgrace and have been since you were seventeen. You continue to support her, and she will take you for every penny you have.”

Leaning forward, I placed my palm on Will’s tensed up shoulder. I understood both why he hid who he was and where he got his ability to find one’s weak spot. Verity rose from her chair, hooking her cream handbag over her wrist before delivering her parting words. She knew she’d be forgiven — that he would apologise for upsetting her and for being a disappointment. So, she didn’t hold back as she sneered.

“I called you my miracle baby, the son who was meant to be because we wanted you so badly. Frankly, William, I sometimes find myself wishing you had never been born.”

Shooting me one final look of contempt, she turned on her kitten heel and headed for the exit. I felt Will’s back shake under my hand and saw his head in his hands. To my surprise he wasn’t crying; instead, he was laughing.

Tentatively, I asked, “A-are you okay?”

“Lil, I’ve never told you this, but I fucking hate that woman.”


	5. Grounds For Divorce

We moved from the dining room to the hotel bar, ordered a bottle of champagne, and proceeded to get thoroughly pissed. The Will I had been married to seemed to have disappeared, and been replaced with someone else. The man topping up my glass was charming, funny, interesting, and warm. Having lowered his guard — now with nothing to hide — he made me wish even more that he'd told me the truth years ago. I liked him, I wanted him to be my friend, and I wanted to help him. I didn't recognise him as the man who had bullied and belittled me.

Telling his mother we were separating had gone horribly, but he hadn't let that eat away at him like he might have done once. Instead, we toasted her health and laughed about what he was going to have to send to get her to forgive him.

"How's the house?" Will asked, smiling at the barman as he placed our second bottle in an ice bucket stand next to our table.

"Good, good! I painted the kitchen yesterday, and my fridge arrived the other week." I chuckled. "Who'd have thought I'd get excited by a fridge?"

"That's being old for you." Will chuckled, before sheepishly changing the subject. "Have you heard from Harry?"

I blinked at the sudden change, wondering if maybe he was trying to catch me out. I shook my head. "Nope! Don't think I ever will, either. He knows you and me aren't together anymore, so maybe it's just like I thought: he was just curious about our marriage. He was living with a friend and his wife; maybe he has a thing for married women."

It was Will's turn to shake his head, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. I found it hard to believe he was about to defend the man who'd actively pursued his wife, but listened as he proceeded to do so anyway. "Obviously, he and I have never spoken about your relationship, but I genuinely think he cares for you."

"He told me he loved me then fucked a supermodel. I'd hate to think what he'd do if he didn't care for me." Eyeing him suspiciously, I stroked the stem of my glass. "By the way, I do not feel at all comfortable talking about this with you. Don't you hate him? Don't you hate us both?"

Will sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair and undoing the top button of his shirt. The alcohol was kicking in, and his cheeks were slightly flushed red. I wished the subject of my former pop star lover hadn't been brought up, I tried not to think of him too often and I was worried it would ruin our salvaged evening. I didn't want to argue with my soon-to-be ex-husband when so far we'd managed to present a united front.

"Listen, Layla, he's not exactly at the top of Christmas card list but I don't hate him!" Reaching across the table, he put his hand on mine and added softly, "and I definitely don't hate you."

"The jury is still out on if I hate you."

We both laughed, though I wasn't entirely joking. Sensing that, Will squared his shoulders and shrugged as he leaned over to refill his glass.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did."

We sat in a pensive silence and people-watched until he spoke again.

"I am sorry for how I treated you, Lil. You didn't deserve it, but even though you didn't know what was going on, I just couldn't help resenting you." We looked in each other's eyes, and though I knew he was being genuine, I still couldn't fully forgive what he'd done. "I am sorry. With my whole heart, I am sorry."

"There's one thing I'm curious about, that I forgot to ask. What were you fighting about when I got home from Ibiza?"

Will's face cracked into a smile, seemingly having forgotten how awful he had been to me that day, but I let it slide because I wanted to know his answer.

"We actually told you the truth!"

"That does surprise me." Rolling my eyes, I scoffed as he grimaced.

"I fucked up at work and Terry was livid with me."

I waited for him to explain why he was so amused, but when it didn't come, I asked, "did he stay in the house while I was gone?"

The smile faded and Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hesitated to answer, was concerned it would do more harm than good, and fiddled with the napkin under his drink. Finally, he looked at me and nodded.

"Yes, he did."

"I don't feel so fucking bad about that tattoo anymore, that's for sure!"

We polished off the second bottle and a couple of glasses of whiskey, then called it a night. He was starting to slur his words, and I was struggling to see straight. We'd moved on from our melancholy confessional and turned the conversation to reminiscing about better days. By the time we gathered our things, we were giggling and leaning on each other like the best of friends.

As we left the hotel, it was a shock to us both that it was still light outside though it was grey and rainy. It wasn't even nine o'clock but it felt so much later, as though time had stood still in the hotel bar and was now rapidly catching up. We hugged tightly as we said goodnight in the lazy rain, and it suddenly felt like we'd been at a wake. There wouldn't be any need to see each other ever again — telling Verity was the last thing to do as a couple (and I hadn't really even needed to do that). Everything else was just formality, solicitors, and paperwork. With the death of our marriage, I only hoped that this would be the start of us both finding our happiness — the happiness we hadn't been able to find together.

"Thank you for doing this with me," he muttered too close to my ear before kissing my cheek, "and thank you for not telling her about Terry and me."

"You're going to have to tell her eventually, Will, but it's not down to me to tell you when that should be." Cupping his cold cheeks with my warm hands, I took him in one last time: the face of the man I'd once planned on spending the rest of my life with. With a lump forming in my throat, I whispered, "I wish we could have been like this before. We could have been a great team."

Tearfully, he nodded as I pulled away and poured myself into the back of the waiting taxi. I gave the driver my address, and as I waved goodbye to Will, I felt like I was also waving goodbye to the old life he represented. My life was going to change, of that I was determined.

**•**

It took several attempts to get the key in the lock, focusing with one eye closed and making jabbing thrusts with the key until finally it connected and the door opened. I stumbled in, kicked off my heels, shrugged off my jacket, and let it fall to the floor with my bag. With the hopes of sobering up a little, I made my way to the paint-smelling kitchen and made some buttered toast. 

As I munched on toast and stared blankly at my new, beautiful, vintage-style fridge, I heard my phone rumble violently twice against the table next to me. Assuming it was Will checking to see if I'd gotten home alright or Rose asking how the meeting had gone, I ignored them until I'd finished eating and moved on to staring at the tiled floor. The following day, I had planned on scrubbing it on my hands and knees, but that seemed very unlikely to happen in the state I was. It would be a miracle if I made it to the sofa.

Sipping at the glass of water I was forcing myself to drink, I pressed the button to light up my phone and saw two messages from an unknown number. With a deep frown, I opened them and instantly wished I hadn't.

**Unknown**   
_I know you don't want to talk to me, but I ran into Rose a while ago and I haven't been able to get you out of my head since then. I just want to know you're okay. If you need anything I'm here. H x_

**Unknown**    
 _I didn't lie when I said I loved you, but I got scared. I want to see you when I'm back in London. Please, can we meet?_

I stared at the words he'd typed until the screen faded and eventually turned black. Thoughts failed me. My mind was racing but was also completely blank. Standing up, I put my crumb-covered plate in the sink, refilled my glass of water, and headed upstairs to get a shower. I could only hope that I would find an answer in the water, or at the very least sober up enough to come up with a reply.

Stepping into the cubicle, I moved the shower head and leaned against to wall. I closed my eyes and stood under the stream of hot water as it hit my skin (which also helped when it came to the literal headache that was my yellow bathroom). Everything was spinning, but when I put my face into the spray, I felt clarity forming and the fog start to clear. I couldn't class myself as sobered, but it's amazing what water hitting your face at high speed will do for your thoughts.

My already pensive mood doubled, and I couldn't help but feel like Harry's messages had come at the right time. I'd just said goodbye to Will, and along came the person who'd unintentionally influenced that goodbye. Harry had taken me by surprise — that was for sure — I had half-expected never to hear from him again. I'd said as much to Will only hours before. I had thought Harry would just become some surreal dalliance in my life where I'd randomly had an affair with a pop star, that I'd think back on and ask myself ' _Did that really happen?_ ' Maybe I'd even tell my grandkids, and they'd roll their eyes and laugh, thinking I was just their doolally granny.

I had not expected a declaration of love.

Eventually stepping out of the shower, I was still none the wiser on what to reply with. Did I go with a polite 'thanks but no thanks,' or just ignore him? Did I block his new number, or reply with a simple 'fuck off?' I wasn't angry with him anymore, but his actions had hurt me. He'd lead me to believe he genuinely cared, that we were something more than just a fling. I'd honestly considered us friends as well as 'lovers.' He may have thought he'd meant what he'd said about loving me, yet I couldn't help but think back to my earlier thoughts: Harry was mixing up lust, passion, and infatuation with love. It had been too easy for him to cast aside my vulnerability. He didn't love me.

I tried not to think about him for a few minutes — just got ready for bed and drank more water. Knowing I'd probably be waking up with a hangover, staying hydrated and making sure I had paracetamol within reach for when I awoke to my head feeling like it was in a vice was more important than Harry bloody Styles.

I put on fresh pyjamas and climbed into my bed. I was still getting used to living alone, the nighttime especially being the hardest to adjust to. Any noise in the house would make me nervous. I couldn't just put it down to Will getting home late from a concert or Rose getting up to use the bathroom. I was alone, and that seemed to fit every part of my life.

To feel less lonely, I turned on the TV and put it at a low volume for background noise. I puffed my pillows, and got myself comfortable before opening Harry's messages again. He loved me and wanted to meet. When he was back in London, he wanted to see me.

Letting my thumbs tap at the keyboard, I tried to not overthink my response.

**Layla**   
_Just give me some time, Harry. I need to work out if I can get past what you did._

I pressed send before I had the chance to stop myself. I'd asked for time because that was what I needed.

At least, that's what I thought I needed.

I didn't know. I'd buried my feelings for him, focusing especially in the previous couple of months on my separation from Will, but I'd thought about him all the time. He'd been a shining beacon in amongst the darkness of my life, the only other person who gave me comfort apart from Rose. With his actions he'd snuffed out the light and taken away my happy place. Yet, despite myself, I still longed for him and his voice telling me everything would be okay. I just didn't know if I really wanted to meet with him again.

I considered the next message I'd typed out. It was ready to send, but I was unsure if I was ready to be open with Harry again just yet.

**Layla**   
_I love you too x_

I read it again several times and then, with a sigh, deleted it.


	6. Unintended

Sleep was impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, the room would spin and I'd have to grip the bed covers for fear of spinning out of control. I just lay in the dark and stared up at the Artex ceiling while having imaginary conversations with Harry until I started losing my own argument and rolled over to switch my bedside lamp back on. Picking up my phone, I opened up numerous apps and scrolled through various websites hoping to get some decor ideas. Paint colours, wallpaper patterns, and fluffy fabrics had become my biggest distractions from life, but my thoughts were somewhere else — mainly wherever Harry was.

With a heavy sigh, I opened his messages and watched myself type and send,

**Layla**   
_Are you awake?_

Realising what I had just done, I threw my phone to the bottom of the bed while my knees shot up to my chest and I wrapped my arms around calves. I groaned loudly and regretted every single life decision which had lead to this one. I was annoyed I'd caved in so easily. Then again, it wasn't really caving in, but merely being open to a conversation — even Will got that. My eyes went to everything in the room except my phone, convincing myself that if I didn't look at it, he would reply sooner.

If he even replied at all. His messages may have been the result of a few too many, and in the morning, he'd wake up filled with regret. Once again, I had fallen for it oh-so-easily.

I nearly screamed with relief when the phone lit up, but that relief was short-lived when I realised that Harry hadn't replied to my text. He was calling me. The screen no longer said 'Stella' as it had during our affair, and I liked seeing his name pop up. I reached for the phone, and with a split-second's hesitation, I finally answered.

"Hello?"

"Yes, I'm awake." Hearing Harry speak was enough to bring my heart to my throat. I was determined not to let his actions slide, but I missed him and would have done anything to have him there with me. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I can't sleep and I'm drunk," I replied, glad I had been drinking so I didn't feel so nervous. "Where are you?"

"I'm in a room," he answered before adding quickly, "in Atlanta. Drinking on a school night?"

"I spent the day with Will. We told his mother about the divorce and then drank a lot." Cringing at the casual mention of my divorce, I tried to follow it brightly with my basic knowledge of time differences. "You have a show tonight, then? How're the nerves?"

"Yeah, we go on in a little. I'm more nervous making this phone call if I'm honest. I..." he paused and took a deep breath, "...I'm in shock that you actually replied to me, but I'm sad we can't talk for long."

"It's okay. I understand." Laying down and closing my eyes, I pretended for the first time in almost a year that Harry was next to me. "I nearly didn't, but you caught me in a forgiving mood."

"In that case, can we meet when I come back? I'll only be in London for a couple of days, but I'd really like to talk. Also, I got you something for your birthday and I'd like to give it to you."

Having gotten used to nobody but Rose remembering or caring much about my birthday, I was thrown off track a little. We had spent my thirtieth together and he had made it so special, but with how things had gone afterwards, I had convinced myself that it hadn't meant the same to him. I hadn't expected him to remember it, certainly not to use it as a reason why he wanted to meet up, and certainly not weeks after. Turning thirty-one had felt important to me — the first birthday in my new house and as a single woman on my own — but it was nothing to anyone else. Harry remembering it enough to get me a gift made my tummy flutter and I softened to him further.

"Okay, we can meet," I sighed, ignoring the usual excitement I got at the prospect of seeing him. "I would invite you 'round to mine, but I'm still in the decorating stages."

"You have your own place? I could help decorate. I can hold your ladder or something," he chuckled suggestively.

Feeling my cheeks warm, I bit my lip and suppressed the urge to giggle at his flirtation. I had to remain strong, to at least present myself as somewhat resistant to his charms and not so easily won over as I had been. It was easy to let myself get swept up in how much I wanted Harry, especially when I was lonely and sad or in need of reminding I was worth more than what Will made me think I was. But Harry had hurt me, too, and I needed him to know that before I considered forgiving him. As if reading my thoughts, his tone became serious and he gave me the apology I needed.

"Lil, I'm sorry for what I did. It was immature and I regret it. I panicked that I was feeling more for you than you were for me." Scoffing, he muttered, "me and my bruised ego."

I didn't know what to say. I was drunk and still bruised both emotionally and mentally by everything that had happened in the past year, but I couldn't bring myself to return his vulnerability. My soul felt fragile, as though I was walking around protecting it from any harm and Harry was the one person who could hurt it further. There had been a point where I allowed myself to think that I loved him, too, but he had sent that thought scurrying back into the deep recesses of my brain the moment he blocked my number. He hadn't done that by accident, but a conscious decision — he had chosen her over me.

"We can talk about it more when we meet, Harry."

"Oh, okay. I mean, of course!"

"I'm sorry." Sensing he'd found my diplomatic reply cold, I felt guilty. It had probably taken a lot for him to swallow his pride and apologise. I knew it would have been hard for me at that age, no matter how guilty I felt. "I'm sorry, I'm drunk and it's late. I didn't expect that we'd end up talking, or that you'd say sorry. I've had a crazy few months."

"Layla, it's okay," he reassured, voice low and soft. "I just wanted to say sorry. We can talk about it more another time. I'll book us a room and we can be alone."

At the mention meeting at a hotel, I felt myself bristle at the suggestion, instantly needing to remind him that just because we were talking and I'd agreed to meet, things were not just going back to how they'd been before. Logically, I knew a hotel was the best option, but I didn't want to give him the impression that I was going to drop my knickers the minute I walked through that door, if at all. He was going to have to do more than just flash his dimples, say some platitudes, and charm me into bed.

"We're just meeting to talk. You know that, don't you?" The stern tone that came from my mouth took me by surprise, but I made no effort to apologise for it this time.

"I know, Lil. Will a conference room be okay?" he asked, cheekily.

I could hear muffled voices in the background, including Harry's as he moved the phone away from his mouth. I yawned and waited for him to return, tempted to counter his cheekiness by telling him our meeting was off. Clearing his throat, I heard him clearly again.

"I'm sorry, just been told I need to go," he said sadly, "but I know we're just meeting to talk, baby. I just want us to have privacy."

"Okay, just let me know when and where and I'll make sure I'm free."

"I'm glad I caught you in the right mood." I could hear the smile in his words, and it made me smile too. "Sleep well, Lil."

"Have a good show, Harry. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

•

Waking up, I'd thought for a moment that the conversation with Harry had been a dream stemming from my imaginary arguments with him. That was until I saw a message which had been sent after his show apologising for having to rush off, and wishing me a good day when I woke up. That had woken me up properly and had me calling Rose to see if she was free for breakfast. I needed greasy food and advice from my friend.

I arrived to the cafe before her seeing as it wasn't far from my house and managed to bag us a window seat. As I waited for her to arrive, I sipped my tea and hoped my hangover got no worse. I could handle the slight nausea and the occasional haunting taste of whiskey. I just didn't want to be sick or develop a headache.

"Alright, bird!" Rose greeted me with a grin, loudly pulling out the seat opposite me and plopping herself into it. "How's the head?"

Looking up from my tea, I gave her the finger and gave a sarcastically sweet smile. "Fine, thanks."

She grinned at me sympathetically, shrugging off her brightly coloured coat and picking up the laminated menu. "That was Dee last Saturday. She was as sick as a dog."

Rose's expression turned soft as her gaze drifted over the list of greasy food. I knew that she'd seen Dee vomit. That was her measure for love —  if she could handle a person's retches and all the other lovely things that come with puking after too much to drink, it was love. She'd held my hair back on many occasions, and I'd done the same for her, but it was the usually followed with a week of mickey-taking and reenacting of noises. There was none of that now. Rose just simply rolled her eyes with affection and declared she was going to have a full English breakfast.

As we waited for the waitress to bring over Rose's tea, I filled her in on what had happened with Verity and Will, and she proceeded to tell me off for drinking with him. Understandably, she was still furious with him and was thoroughly enjoying finally being able to tell me what she really thought of him ("wankbasket," "toffee-nosed bellend," and "arse-faced, knob-cheesing, bullying poshboy!" being just some of my favourites). However I was relieved I had a distraction from her annoyance up my sleeve.

"So, I had an interesting conversation last night," I spoke with a casual air as I poured sugar into my fresh mug of tea and waited to see if she'd guess. When she didn't, I continued. "Harry messaged me."

Gasping in shock as she sipped her tea, Rose started to cough and splutter, the hot liquid having been rapidly sucked to the back of her throat. I waited for her to regain her composure, feeling slightly guilty for nearly causing her to choke. Red-faced, she patted her chest and signalled for me to continue. As she took another gulp of tea, I hoped this time it didn't come shooting across the table at me.

"I'm meeting with him the next time he's in London, in a week or two."

At that moment, food arrived so we busied ourselves with sauces and buttering toast. The first bite of food was heaven-sent and exactly what I needed to ease the horrible swirling in my stomach. As I piled sausage, beans, and scrambled egg onto my fork and into my mouth, I felt life return to my cheeks. We ate in silence for a few minutes, both of us hungry and needing to fill a gap before we continued with our conversation. Feeling somewhat sated, Rose spoke up.

"So, is a reconciliation on the cards? You're both single now. There's nothing stopping you."

"Maybe. I don't know," I shrugged, picking up a piece of toast and chewing it thoughtfully. "He apologised for what he did, but with everything else going on, I'm not sure I need the hassle."

She mirrored my shrug and clicked her tongue. "It's a tough one, I'll give you that. My really lame and not very helpful advice is that you have to do what's best for you. Meet with Harry, see how it goes, and if it isn't one hundred percent what you want, give him the boot."

I looked out of the steamed up window at the blurry people walking by. It had started to rain, and the morning was blue and gloomy, heavy with the impending arrival of winter just around the corner. It had crossed my mind that Harry and I might not click anymore, the excitement of clandestine meetings and whispered secrets having given us a false sense of a shared connection.

"So you think I should meet him?"

"Best case scenario: he's the love of your life and you'll end up living happily ever after. Worst case scenario: he breaks your heart again, but after some great sex." Once again, she shrugged her shoulders. "What's the harm?"

Shaking my head, I finished my tea and watched as Rose mopped up bean juice with a slice of bread.

"What's the harm, indeed."


	7. A Song For The Lovers

  
Knowing the high-end hotels of London was a part of my job. There were several folders in the office, which were constantly updated, but it certainly helped to know the basics. London had become very popular in terms of city weddings, so there were plenty of brides who had visions of their own magazine-perfect day in the perfect venue. The hotel Harry had chosen was new, but it had quickly become my favourite to recommend to brides who wanted something classic yet fresh. Lots of wooden and copper details, marble staircases and mirrors. I was excited to visit the place again — I just hoped it wasn't going to be ruined with a new bad memory of Harry. I’d already attended a couple of weddings in the other hotels we’d stayed in and it had taken everything not to tell my boss I was sick and needed to go home.

With a huge sense of déjà vu, I knocked on the door with the room number I’d been given and waited nervously. Harry answered the door, and it felt just like the first time we’d met in a hotel: he was dressed in black skinny jeans and a white tee. His hair was a lot longer than before, but again, there were wet patches where his damp curls lay on his shoulders.

"Oh!" he exclaimed as though surprised to see me. I had a moment of panic that I'd imagined our plans until he smiled and signalled for me to come in. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be here yet!"

"I'm not… early, am I? We said four, didn-"

Still unsure, I looked down at my watch and let him usher me into the hotel room. Hearing the door close behind me, I realised that once again, I was alone in a hotel suite with Harry — something I’d told myself would never happen.

"We did! I just lost track of time," he smiled a big, dimpled grin that lit up his whole face, and looked me over. "You look so lovely."

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.” I smiled, blushing as we exchanged soft glances, scared to make any real eye contact yet. “I can't believe how long your hair is now.”

I wrapped a chocolate brown lock around my finger and tugged lightly. As I pulled my hand away, he grabbed hold of my wrist and pressed my palm to his chest. As I felt the warmth of his body through his shirt, an odd mix of nerves and calm washed over me. He wrapped his hand around mine, and our eyes finally met.

"I'm so happy you're here."

"That could change," I grinned, gently taking my hand back, "but it's good to see you, too."

Suddenly, he hooked a finger over the belt of my dress and pulled me forward. I held my breath as he lowered his head and leaned in to kiss me.

"I know we need to talk," Harry whispered, lips inches from mine and breath warm against my face, "but I've waited so long to see you."

Softly, he kissed me. His mouth barely touched mine as he waited for me to push him away, and I would — just not yet. As he parted his lips, my tongue collided with his and they greeted each other like old friends. I moaned as he wrapped his arms around me, our bodies pressing together with as much familiarity as our kiss. I tried desperately to keep my thoughts focused — to not let myself jump straight into bed with him — but his embrace felt like home.

When I finally pulled away, I expected to be led to the bedroom. Instead, Harry simply smiled and let out a large sigh. "Now that's out of my system, let's go down to the bar and talk."

"Huh?" Out of his system? Down to the the bar? This was not the Harry I'd come to know or expect.

Maybe (as I'd spent weeks worrying)... I'd lost my appeal?

I’d wondered if he’d only had an interest in me because of some morbid curiosity in my marriage, I’d spent a lot of my time in a panic that my appeal for him would be lost, or vice versa. We’d both been forbidden fruit — a dirty, little secret that had become incredibly intense. With none of the secrecy, what did we have? I’d felt the same spark in our kiss, the tingling need in my core, but maybe Harry hadn’t felt it too. Rose and Dee had suggested that the only way of finding out what was left between us would be to meet with him. From his need to get me alone, to kiss me, but then not instantly erupting with desire as he had always previously done, I guessed he had just given me my answer.

Harry picked up a blue, woollen beanie (not too dissimilar to the one which he’d left in my house and had caused so much trouble) and used it to cover his wet hair. He seemed chipper as he spoke, giving no indication of what he had to say. “Don't worry. I got us a private room so we could have drinks and talk without the pressure of being in a hotel room."

"Strange how you did that this time and not the first time we met in a hotel."

Not wanting him to know how panicked I felt by being in public with him — even if it was just a quick walk to a private room — I turned away and looked around the room. I could see the bed through open double doors, his usual brown leather overnight bag was on it with some clothes spilling out. I turned as I heard him approach me, and once again, we came face to face. I watched his green gaze go to where mine had been, and he flashed a devilish grin that woke the warmth between my thighs. Leaning in again, I waited for him to kiss me but instead he spoke quietly, as though he was confiding a great secret in me.

"Yeah, but I was trying to get you into bed that time."

Feeling my face grow flush, I pouted my lips and asked with a hint of flirtation, “Oh? So you’re not going to try that tonight?"

"No." Taking hold of my hand, Harry led me towards the door and opened it. As I walked through, he put his face close to my ear and whispered, "not just yet."

The space wasn't quite a room, but more of a private section of the hotel bar, tucked away from view and usually reserved for larger parties. Though it felt a little ridiculous using it for just the two of us, it was private. It wasn't until we took our seats in the blue, velvet covered booth that I felt semi-safe. Rather than sitting in the middle of curved seat, we remained at the end so we would be face to face. To outsiders, we could be just having a business lunch, for all they knew. There was no cosiness or closeness.

We ordered drinks and decided to talk a little before we ate. Harry, being Harry, had arranged so we could order from the restaurant menu and they would bring it to the bar. After drinks had arrived and we were left alone, I cleared my throat and broke the awkward silence.

"I suppose we’d better talk and clear the air."

"I guess so."

I was struck by how lovely he looked as he stared intensely at his hands curving around the bottom of his glass. His hair, now dry, was long enough to poke out from his hat, and his face was losing its puppy fat, giving him a jaw that I was sure could cut glass. I could see that he was going to be even more handsome as he grew older — something I truly didn't think was possible.

“I panicked. I didn’t think you’d leave Will, and I didn’t think you’d really want to be with me,” he shrugged as he finally raised his gaze to me. “It was like I was feeling more for you than you were for me.”

“I told you I loved you. I told you I would leave him for you.” I was trying not to get angry — trying not to show the hurt he caused — but the ice in my glass was melting alarmingly fast from my tight, heated grip around it. “You say you meant what you said. Well, so did I.”

“Did you though? Really? You’d told me you didn’t love me, that I didn’t know you.” Tone sullen, Harry looked defiant. Suddenly, we were two people too scared and too hurt to be truly vulnerable with each other again.

“I did love you, Harry. I was too scared to admit it. Sex with someone is one thing in an affair — love is something else entirely.”

He looked away again — this time to order another round of drinks. I hadn’t noticed that he’d emptied his glass, so I drained mine to match. We fell silent again as we waited for the second round to arrive, looking at our phones or around at the decor.

Alone again, he took a sip of his liquid courage and asked quietly, refusing to look at me, “So, you don’t love me anymore?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head and tried to remember what loving him had felt like. “Honestly, I didn’t let myself feel that way for long before you… Well, anyway, I guess I don’t know what I feel for you anymore. Do you still think you love me?”

Harry stayed silent for a few seconds, fiddling with the thin, black straw he’d been drinking from. Eventually, he shrugged, looked me in the eye, and nodded. “I tried to convince myself I didn’t, that I was just infatuated or something. But, seeing you before the show, and the hurt and loathing you had for me, I wanted to do anything I could to fix it.”

Under the table I felt his feet slide to settle on either side of mine. It still didn’t feel right for him to hold my hand, so this was the next best thing. “The song — it started as just an idea of what an affair was like. I never thought when I wrote it that I would feel that way, that I'd want you to leave Will and be with me, but..." he frowned as he recalled the memory. "That night I saw you crying in the restaurant, I knew it was more than just sex between us."

I remembered that night vividly. Will’s hurtful words. The way Harry had practically sent his chair flying backwards as he stood up to comfort me. How I'd stopped him from coming over, despite wanting him to with all my heart.

"And what about her? We can’t pretend like she didn’t happen.”

"I won't insult you and say it was a mistake or that it didn't mean anything." Harry's feet tightened against mine as I attempted to pull away, two small lines of frustration forming between his brows from not letting him finish. "It was just friends hooking up and nothing more."

"Am I meant to feel grateful?"

"No!" He leaned forward in his seat, fixing his open and honest gaze on me. "Layla, listen. I love you, but I didn’t know what to do. You were married, and I couldn’t believe you’d ever choose me and what comes with my life over the one you already had."

I thought about how horrible I'd felt without him. While everything was crumbling around me, I couldn't talk to the one person I knew would make it better. I opened my eyes, grabbed my glass, and drained it until the ice hit my teeth. It was hard to know if I should believe him, to be understanding that the position he’d been in was just as hard as mine. Harry had shown signs of jealousy, but that could have been possessiveness rather than any true feelings he had for me. I just had a hard time believing that someone like Harry — who lived a blessed life, who had people that loved him, who could snap his fingers and have anything he wanted — wanted me. I mean, really wanted me. Years of put-downs from Will had left their mark, and I couldn’t believe Harry would want me when there was no reason to have me.

“I left Will the day after that show. Did you know that?”

“No. Can I ask what happened?”

Harry knew there was somebody else, but (like everyone else) still assumed it was Mia. That’s what the rumours were according to Will and Rose: that I’d found him in bed with his business partner’s daughter and left. Other than Rose, Dee, Mia, and myself, nobody knew about Will and Terry being together, despite the fact that Terry was all but living in our house. I felt a moment of guilt in telling Harry. It wasn’t my secret to share, but it spilled out anyway,

“Will and I got into a fight about me not wanting to go to your after party. It got pretty intense so I spent the night at Rose’s.” I paused to take a drink. I hadn’t really spoken about what happened to anyone else, and my throat seemed to be tightening as I remembered pushing the bedroom door open. “I’d decided I was going to go home and tell him that it was over — that I didn’t want to deal with his shit anymore. I got up early, drove home, and... and I found him in bed with Terry.”

"Terry?!" Harry’s eyes became wide and round like saucers. He went to reach a hand across the table but thankfully stopped himself. “Oh, Lil, I’m so sorry.”

"Terry.” Hands shaking, it was my turn to look for someone to bring another round. Turning back to face Harry, I saw a look of what felt like pity. I knew that would always be the reaction. "Believe it or not, I’m okay. I feel hurt and betrayed, but they've been in love since Will was seventeen or so. Mostly, I feel sad that they felt the need to lie."


	8. Wildflower

I didn’t know how to bring it up. Harry was still processing the information about Will and Terry, so I felt awkward dumping the fact Will also knew about our affair, too.

“Listen, there’s something else. It’s not as bad as it sounds, but Will knows about us.”

“You told him?” he asked, eyes wide.

“No. Terry figured it out when we went golfing, but Will didn’t believe it until he saw us getting out of the lift together at the premiere.” Harry went to open his mouth but I spoke over him. “I know, but he was leaving just as we came down. I thought he was angry because I’d made him feel bad for leaving me there, but it was because he realised we were sleeping together.”

Harry frowned and asked in disbelief, “He was angry with you?!”

“Yes, he was very angry. Oh God, Harry, he was horrible for weeks after — you have no idea. Then Terry made him see sense and reminded him that he wasn’t the best husband to me, so of course I would find comfort somewhere else. He got over it and just turned a blind eye.”

“This… is...” He was shaken. The hand that wasn't wrapped around his glass was fidgety. Despite the fact that he seemed calm, I could tell I had just thrown him completely. I wondered if I got up to go to the bathroom whether he'd still be sat here when I returned.

“Insane, isn’t it? We spent all that time worrying and feeling guilty, but it was for nothing.” Leaning my elbows on the table, I rested my chin on intertwined fingers and sighed heavily. “Like I said, I’m fine with them being together, but the lies have really fucked me up.”

We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Harry seemed to switch off for a while, but I knew his mind must be racing. He’d expected a big showdown if ever the truth came out: Will calling him out in front of everyone and maybe even throwing a punch. We’d been unbelievably lucky to have never been caught, though the possibility had never been far from our thoughts. It was strange to suddenly know that even if we had been caught, Will could have walked in mid-coitus and we’d have probably gotten nothing more than a ‘you need to be more careful.’ That had been something I’d struggled with: the realisation that all my guilt, panic and anger over stupid things like him turning up at my house or accidentally leaving his hat had all been unnecessary. I’d had a couple of months to work through my thoughts and feelings about everything, yet Harry had only minutes.

Stretching my hand towards where his lay on the table, my little finger touched his just enough to bring him back from his island of far-away thoughts. I needed to let Harry know that I was there, that I understood how baffling it all was, and that most of all, I needed his reassurance. It’s what I’d craved the most during moments of real depression: to have back the Harry who made everything seem so much better. Turning his head, he looked at me with such an odd expression that it made me worry again that he was going to get up and leave me sat there. After a brief and tense moment of silence spent waiting for his reaction, he curled his pinky around mine and spoke with a soft smile.

“Shall we order food?” Chuckling on a deep inhale, he picked up a menu and handed it to me. “I need to eat because all that information and alcohol has gone straight to my head.”

We ordered food and spent the next hour chatting over dinner. Momentarily leaving the heavy conversation behind, we talked about life since we last saw each other. He told me some stories from tour and about some of the places he’d been to, while I told him about the house and my work. I knew I’d missed Harry’s company, but as we quickly fell back into being comfortable together, I realised just how much. Everything with him felt so easy, and it quickly seemed like there had never been any bad feelings between us. I found him interesting, he made me laugh, and despite our rocky patch, I knew he was a good person. I couldn’t deny that I felt better for clearing the air with him, just as I had with Will and Terry.

As we continued to talk and drink, I was also reminded just how much attraction there was between us. I’d purposefully forgotten a lot of things about him, especially what made me want to jump into bed with him. But with the way he spoke, his smile, and his intensity as he listened to me, it all came flooding back. Soon, his subtle foot brushing escalated into full on footsie, and there was very little talking being done. I slipped off my heels and watched him bite his lip with excited apprehension as my stocking-clad foot slid up the inside of his right leg.

When my toes reached his inner thigh, Harry grinned and reached into his back pocket so he could place his room key in my hand.

"Maybe we should skip dessert and go upstairs? I’ll get drinks sent up."

I eyed the keycard, weighing up if it was such a good idea to sleep with him so soon. There were still so many things to discuss, and I hadn’t truly decided if I could forget what he’d done. But I was drunk and horny, and I wanted him so badly. I’d always been fond of the lyrics, ‘if I hadn’t seen such riches, I could live with being poor.’ When it came to sex with Harry, those words rang truer than ever. We had great sex, connected well, and knew what made the other tick, so although my emotions were fragile, I really needed him to make me feel good because I hadn’t felt it for a long time.

“Let’s go to your room.” Picking up the card from the table, I slipped my shoes back on and grabbed my handbag. “I’ll go first, then you follow in five minutes.”

We both climbed out of the booth, and I did my best to hide that my knees had turned to jelly at the thought of being intimate with Harry again. He pulled me into a tight hug and kissed my cheek as though we were saying goodbye. Mouth lingering close to mine, I could feel his warm breath on my skin as he whispered, “see you in five.”

Back upstairs, I headed straight to the bedroom. I whipped off my clothes — apart from the new red silk underwear set I'd bought — and added a short, black lace robe so I didn't look as exposed as I felt. Despite my determined resolve not to have sex with Harry, I'd gone through the usual preparations of removing all my body hair from the neck down, buying new underwear, and packing an easy change of clothes for the journey home.

I was about to enter the main room and wait for him to knock on the door when I heard the door open. I hadn’t expected him to have a spare key, and thus my plan to greet him in lingerie was ruined. Crawling onto the bed and lying down on my stomach, I made sure that my bosom looked ample as I called out to him.

Harry stopped dead in the doorway, eyes widening and lips forming into a triumphant smirk. His gaze lowered to my chest and he spoke with a voice that made me giddy.

"Oh, hello."

"Hi." I pushed myself up onto all fours and looked down at my half-naked form with innocence. "I hope you don't mind that I changed?"

“I don’t mind at all. Make yourself comfortable.”

He strode over to the bed and stood in front of me so I was eye-level with the waistband of his jeans. Reaching out, I touched my fingertips to where the black denim buttoned together and straightened up on my knees to kiss him. There was no worry I would push him away anymore; instead, there was a raw hunger and a need that made my head swim. Wanting to savour every second, I needed him to be as close to me as possible so I pulled up the hem of his shirt for him to remove it and let it drop to the floor. I kissed down his chest, and ran my palms over the warm skin of his torso until I was face-to-face with two laurel tattoos on his lower stomach.

"These are new!" Whispering, I tilted my head back to look up at him and watched his eyes darken as he enjoyed the view of me kneeling before him.

"Like them?" Harry asked huskily.

“Mhmm.”

Parting my lips, I dragged my tongue over the tattoo covering his right hip and was rewarded with a guttural groan, which encouraged me to do the same to the other side. Before I got the chance, his fingers were in my hair, tugging my head back so he could look at me.

"You look so pretty on your knees, baby, but I really need to taste you.”

Feeling a jolt of arousal from his words, I grabbed the hand he didn’t have in my hair and placed it between my legs. He traced the outline of my core over the wet silk with his index finger and flashed me a wicked smile as I whimpered from his touch.

"Lil, you're so wet and we haven't even started yet."

In a flash, I was suddenly on my back and my knickers were on the other side of the room, landing next to the TV. Harry spread my legs, knelt down on the floor, and hooked his arms around my thighs to drag me closer to his waiting mouth. The first feel of his tongue in a year was nearly enough to send me into bliss — a long, slow, savouring drag from entrance to clit which made my legs quiver.

I reached for a pillow to muffle my cries, but felt him nip at my thigh before instructing, "I want to hear you. I want this whole hotel to hear you."

Lifting my head to see if he was serious, our eyes locked, and he extended his tongue before flicking it at my exposed hub to show he meant every word. My yelp was loud and my head hit the bed as my back arched. I’d forgotten how good his mouth felt on me — the warm, wet, laps making my toes curl already, driving me closer to the edge. Knowing I could climax too soon, I tried to pull away from the intensity of his mouth. Harry’s grip was tight and his tongue was unrelenting, which only made me more aroused.

“Oh, fu-“ I whined, the word failing halfway through.

Covering the top of my pussy with his mouth, he slid two fingers into me, curling them up and finding my G-spot with familiar ease. I was already so close; the feel of cold metal coming into contact repeatedly with my entrance and Harry's expert tongue movements were enough to make my toes flex, my back lift up off the bed, and my hands fly to the top of his head. I saw a flashing light, my body writhing and twitching while I cried out his name. Hungrily, he kept going, despite my hard tugs at his hair and my legs turning rigid from oversensitivity.

When finally his mouth moved away to kiss my pubic bone, Harry looked up at me with a mischievous, dimpled grin. “Good?”

I lay limply and laughed, my cheeks reddening with slight embarrassment. “I can’t believe I came so fast.”

“I know,” he smirked, moving his fingers and making me moan involuntarily. Slowly, he pulled his fingers from my clenching grip and started to lick them clean, humming with enjoyment. "Fuck, I've missed how good you taste. Y’know, I think being single has made you even sweeter."


	9. No Other Baby

I was still trembling as Harry stripped off his jeans and briefs. My heart swelled every time he did something familiar, reminding me why he’d gotten under my skin in the first place, but it almost burst at the sight of seeing him completely naked again. There was plenty more to him than his body, but the intimacy of being nude together and the feel of skin-on-skin was something I had missed. Looking him over, letting my eyes wander over him like his had mine, I could see he’d been working out: his arms and shoulders were bigger and broader, and there were numerous new tattoos other than the laurels, including a small word on his well-toned thigh.

 

"Do you have ‘Brasil’ written on your thigh?" I asked, ignoring the reaction my brain and heart were having from spotting the anchor on his forearm.

 

"That's where your eyes go? My thigh?" Harry raised an eyebrow and grinned, the anchor coming further into view as he stroked his rock-hard erection. "Too many caipirinhas led to an impulsive tattoo. It also ended up with me pulling my trousers down and showing the audience."

 

I shook my head and laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

 

Climbing onto the bed, he settled between my parted legs, and we came face-to-face. With such little space between us, everything became still and serious, his gaze once again giving me the impression that he was able to read my thoughts. I’d told him I didn’t know if I still loved him, but with the weight of him on me, the feel of his breath on my face, and the memory of his nod when I’d asked if he still loved me, I knew that had been a lie. I still loved him. I had just buried it deep and let all my troubles pile on top of it enough to fool myself into thinking I didn’t. The corners of Harry’s lips pulled up ever so slightly into a small, mischievous smile, and I wondered if he really could see what was going on in my head.

 

“The way you’re looking at me, Lil,” he whispered, reaching between us to slide his cock between my slit, “makes me think you do still love me.”

 

I let out a whine of embarrassment mixed with pleasure, refusing to admit he was right, but also unable to contain how good his taunting strokes felt. Raising my hips so he could soothe my ache, I pouted when he shook his head and pulled away.

 

"Please, Harry.” Voice soft, I bit my lip and looked up at him with desperate eyes.

 

"Not until you tell me." 

 

My cheeks were starting to burn with mortification. I wanted him to let the subject go, but I was also finding his teasing disturbingly arousing. I thought we’d be clawing and desperate for each other, his need overriding his little game, but his eyes were twinkling with delight as I squirmed underneath him, and he was enjoying my frustrated whimpers.

 

“Baby, please!” 

 

“If you just tell me, I’ll give you what you want,” he said softly, the tips of his fingers brushing over my clit. "You're so wet for me. I thought you'd want me to fuck you, but I guess I was wro-"

 

"I love you!" I yelled, the words bursting from my mouth. Covering my face with my hands, Harry pulled them away and pinned them to the bed, his grin triumphant.

 

I was annoyed at myself for caving, for letting him pull my confession from me with merely a sexual promise, but feeling the tip of his cock pushing into me had the annoyance running back to where it came from. As Rose had said, if this led to a broken heart, at least I also got a good lay out of it. Then I realised Harry had paused, letting just his head sit unmoving in me as he leaned down to mumble in my ear.  

 

"Again."

 

"I love you." 

 

He pushed a little further into me, then stopped again.

 

"Again," he commanded before moving to kiss me slowly, teeth tugging at my bottom lip. 

 

The game was getting harder to play now that he was in me, his self-restraint slipping as my warmth enveloped him. I could see his cheeks starting to burn, and the two lines between his knitted brows had appeared. Once again, my heart swelled seeing the control he’d been trying to display slip away, and I started to see the Harry who wanted me as much as I wanted him.

 

I whimpered loudly through gritted teeth, hoping that it was enough, "Fuck! I love you, Harry! I love you, I love you, I love you!"

 

Thankfully, it was, and he sank himself into me until we were fully connected. The delicious feel of him stretching me made my skin tingle, even as we took a few seconds to lie still and just enjoy being together again. 

 

“I love you, too, Lil,” he mumbled against my lips as we kissed, “and I’ve missed you so much.”

 

As he slowly started to move, his mouth left mine and travelled down my neck to my breasts. I arched my back and told him I’d missed him too, while he circled my left nipple with his tongue and pinched the other with his fingers. Harry's thrusts made me cry out as he began to build up speed. I'd forgotten how big he was and how he seemed to hit every spot just right. 

 

"Baby, are you okay?" Harry asked, slowing to a near-stop, the frown on his forehead changing from pleasure to concern.

 

"Fuck! Don't stop!" I begged. "Please!"

 

Wrapping his arms under me and burying his face in my neck, Harry sped back up. I circled his waist with my legs, and we clung to each other, desperate to erase the time we'd missed together. I felt a lump form in my throat, but pushed the urge to cry back down and refused to bare that much of my soul to him just yet. 

 

“Fuck, Layla! You feel so good,” he panted against my cheek. “Tell me again.”

 

I wanted to giggle and ask if he wanted to hear it because it stroked his ego as well as his cock. Instead, I moved my hips with his and whispered, “I love you, Harry Styles.”

 

His hold on me tightened and his thrusts became quicker as he danced along on the edge of his release. The feel of his teeth grazing my shoulder made me quiver, and that seemed to send Harry over the edge, making him groan loudly as his body became rigid.  

 

"Fuck, fuck, fu-" The word remaining half-said, he fell onto me limp and silent.

 

As I listened to his laboured breaths, I waited for him to indicate he'd come back down to earth. I stroked his back and kissed the side of his head, enjoying the feel of his entire weight on top of me. Suddenly, Harry let out a sigh that filled the room, and began lazily nuzzling his nose into the nape of my neck.

 

"I love you, too, Layla French."

 

 

Recovering under the covers, I broached the subject of Harry's anchor tattoo. I reached for the offending hand and studied it silently, waiting for him to question what I was doing. Up close, I could see it was exactly the same as mine, just minus the flowers and with some differences in shading. It wasn’t fresh, it was a few months old at least, but I couldn’t recall if I’d seen it at their show. When he’d seen mine, he had joked about getting the same. I never expected that he actually would.

 

"It matches yours." My head whipped around to look up at him, and with a lopsided smile, he used the same hand to stroke my cheek. "I was wondering if you'd noticed."

 

"Did you do it intentionally?" I sat up and frowned at him, annoyed but not entirely sure why. Looking at me with uncertainty, as if unsure he wanted to tell me the story, Harry’s reluctance confirmed my suspicion that he had set out to copy my tattoo. “Did you?”

 

"It wasn't not intentional." He tried a charming smile, but seeing my unmoving expression, it disappeared and he focused on playing with the fabric of the bed linen, curling it tightly around his finger and letting it go so it stayed in a spiral. "Why are you so upset by it? It's my skin and plenty of people have anchor tattoos."

 

Shrugging, I searched for the cause of my anger and realised it was from habit when he did things that were so reckless. Everything was going perfectly, but I was aware of something missing, that things weren't quite as they had been. Being angry at Harry for something that would have once been a dead giveaway of our affair to my husband, I realised the missing element was guilt. There was no heavy guilt-filled ball in the pit of my stomach — no worry, no shame, no subconscious feeling like what we were doing was sordid. 

 

Harry and I were both single. There was nothing stopping me from going to the edge of the balcony and shouting that we were in love. We could both leave this hotel together holding hands and there would be no disaster or major loss at the end of it.

 

Coming to my senses, I relaxed the angry tension in my shoulders and exhaled.

 

"I'm sorry. My automatic response was to panic that Will would see it. Old habits die hard I guess." I reached for his hand and tried to sound casual as I asked, "did he?"

 

Harry nodded, smiling to himself as though remembering something, but chose not to share whatever was amusing him. Instead, he watched my thumb stroke over the ink and muttered, "I mean, what I was hoping for was that you'd see it. Stupidly, I thought that if you saw it, you'd know that I thought about you all the time and that if there was a way to make it work, I'd have done it." Looking up, his eyes greener than ever as they filled with heartbreaking emotion, he smiled and shrugged. "I guess it didn't work."

 

I moved closer to him and cupped his face as I kissed him softly. I'd been so angry with him the last time we'd been together, distracted by a sniffly nose and a garishly patterned shirt. Desperately searching through the memories of that day, I couldn't even remember catching a glimpse of a new tattoo.

 

"Harry, I promise that I didn’t see that until today, okay?" Harry nodded, his arms snaking around my waist and pulling me tight against him. "It's probably lucky I didn't see it though, because I wouldn't have thought it meant you thought about me."

 

Resting my forehead against his, I buried my fingers into the curls resting on his shoulders. Emphatically, he whispered, "I did though. I thought about you all the time."

 

"I thought about you, too," I  confessed with a shy smile. "So… Where do we go from here?"

 

"I was thinking," Harry grinned suddenly, "a long, hot bath." 

 

"That's not what I meant, but hold that thought." I tugged gently at the curls and tried again. "Seriously, what now?"

 

Harry pondered my question before speaking. "I guess we take things slowly."

 

"Okay." I moved away from him and nodded. 

 

I didn't know what answer I'd expected, because he'd given me the one I would have suggested, but paranoia suddenly filled my thoughts, and I began to wonder if letting my guard down had been a mistake. I'd been overly excited that we were in love — stupid ideas about yelling it from rooftops — but Harry obviously didn't want that. My fragile ego whispered quietly, _'he's quick enough to get me into bed, but why rush anything else?'_

 

"Hey!" Harry shifted towards me, his hand on my cheek, turning my head to look back at him as he smiled. "Don't get in your head about it, Lil. All I'm saying is that we're only just fixing things. I'm always away on tour or recording, and you're still going through your divorce."

 

"You're right."

 

"Believe me, I can't wait for you to meet my friends and family. I'd love for you to come to shows and to have you on tour." He was beaming at me now, eyes shining and words coming quick with excitement. "You can stay at my place, and I can come to yours. We can go out to dinner, and even go on holiday! I want that, but when we're both ready and in the right place."

 

"Don't make it worse by telling me you want those things!" Hiding my face with my hands, I groaned. Harry pulled them away as he laughed, and I gasped. "We could get a cat! Or a dog! Will never let me have a pet."

 

"We can get both." He stroked the side of my face, and I couldn't believe I loved someone so much. I didn't know how we'd make it work, but the softness in his eyes gave me hope that we'd give it our best shot.

 

"We'll take our time. You're right. Of course you are." I touched the back of his hand with my fingertips, and grinned as I pictured Harry in my kitchen. "I want you to come to my house next time."

 

"I can't wait to see it. We'll christen every room." 

 

 

By the time we settled to sleep, I ached all over. Harry cuddled up to my side, his arm across my middle, and very quickly fell asleep. Turning the volume down on the TV, I left it on for company but paid no attention to it. After we'd made love in the large, bowl-shaped bath, I could have easily fallen asleep; all the sex, wine, and hot water making me extra sleepy. But now my mind was buzzing, despite still being exhausted.

 

I carefully reached for my phone, which had lain abandoned on the nightstand for hours, and saw several messages from Rose. 

 

**Rose**  
_I know you're probably already there, but good luck! Ring me later x_  
_How's it going?_  
_Did you die?_  
_Oh god! You're fucking him, aren't you?!_  
_SLAAAAAAAG!_

 

Clamping my palm over my mouth, I stifled my giggles so as not to wake Harry while I replied.

 

**Layla**  
_Thank you for your kind words. Bitch._

 

**Rose**  
_Love you too! Come see me tomorrow and fill me in on all the gory details!_

 

I sent a thumbs up and put my phone back down, my eyes starting to sting with tiredness. Looking down at the sleeping man next to me, his relaxed face bathed in blue from the light of the TV, I felt a flutter of adoration in my tummy. Lips pouted and slightly parted, his eye lashes rested on his cheeks, and a lock of hair had fallen to across his jaw. Gently, I brushed it back and felt guilty when he stirred.

 

“You okay?” Harry mumbled, raising his head slightly with squinted eyes and face scrunched up against the brightness. “I fell asleep.”

 

“I noticed.” Chuckling, I kissed his forehead. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

 

He pressed his lips against my arm and muttered, "I love you," before drifting back to sleep. 

 


	10. Good Day Sunshine

  
I don’t know which it was that stirred me from my deep slumber- my legs being moved or the kisses trailing up my inner thigh.

Groggily raising my head off the pillow, I looked down to see a large lump sloping down between my legs. Harry’s kisses were now nearing my centre, and as I opened my mouth to tell him it was far too early for that sort of behaviour, I felt the first long lick over my clit. The words morphed into a guttural moan, and I felt rather than heard him chuckle.

"Good morning.” His low voice vibrated against my core, and my head hurtled back onto my pillow as I sighed a faint ‘good morning’ in return.

Soft, wet and warm, his mouth was focused. As he made sure to taste every part of me, he wasn't trying to make me come — he was savouring me for when we weren't together. For nights alone in a hotel room when there was nothing on TV and he didn’t want pornography to show up on his bill at checkout. Brain still hazy from sleep, I laid back and let my hips lazily roll with his attentions whilst wondering if this could be a dream.  

The introduction of one finger, and then a second, woke me up a little further.

“Fuck, yes!” I moaned, pushing down onto his fingers and rocking my hips faster.

Harry hummed against my core, pleased his wake up call had quite literally gone down well. I felt his laps speed up, and I arched my back up off the bed, hands clawing at the covers on either side of me, desperate to hold onto something, and feeling as though if I didn't hold on, I would rocket into the sky. The full and delicious stretch from his fingers made the need for release suddenly so important that my body started to tense, and all I could focus on was their movement inside of me. He built up a steady rhythm with his mouth and hands until, finally, my sweet release came.

“Don’t stop!” Gasping, my toes curled, my legs shook, and I covered my face with my palm to stop the entire hotel from hearing my cries.

Harry emerged from under the covers, a grin of pure filth plastered across his face as he wiped his chin. "You're awake, then?"

"I am now," I laughed, reaching to stroke his hair. “Who needs an alarm clock?"

"I woke up hungry." Crawling up to kiss me with the taste of my undoing on his lips, he seemed pleased with himself. "I couldn't wait for breakfast."

Harry slid from between my legs and collapsed next to me, a hand roaming down his stomach to stroke his hardness. I watched with interest as he handled himself, the way his fist moved slowly at first, the way he occasionally paused to run his thumb over the darkening head. Shifting closer to him, I started to kiss his jaw and placed my palm on his chest, my fingers curved around his throat. He let out a small groan of pleasure, sending a shockwave to where I was already still tingling and throbbing. Grazing his earlobe with my teeth, I whispered, “Does that feel good, baby?”

His head rolled on the pillow, turning to look at me with eyes glazed over with lust. Lips pink and parted, he asked without fully moving them, “Touch me.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice.

My hand that lay on Harry’s chest made its journey down his torso. Reaching his groin, I wrapped my fingers, one by one, around his erection until he was fully in my grip. He let out another groan — this time, saying my name — and thrust his hips up slightly before kissing me. The palm he had been using for his own pleasure was now against the back of my head, digits tangling in my already-messy hair as his tongue moved with mine. I worked him as he had done, my speed building as he moaned into my mouth.

When his lips left mine, and I saw the sweet familiar face of his impending release, I prepared myself for the unpredictable spill. Breathing ragged, he reached to grab my wrist and slowed my hand to an almost stop.

“I want to finish inside you.”

I lifted up the covers and moved so I was kneeling astride him. He looked up at me and bit his lip as I lowered down onto him, the two lines between his brow deepening into a blissful frown. Unmoving for a while, I sat and adjusted to the way he stretched me, enjoying my cheeks tingling just from feeling him throb. I was tight around him, and knew he wouldn’t last long, but even short and sweet with Harry was better than anything with Will. I could think that now and feel no guilt.

"Lil, you're so fucking hot," he whimpered, hands gliding up my thighs and settling on my hips. "I've missed everything about you, but how beautiful you look when you're riding me is what I missed when I was alone in my room."

Having been so close to the edge when I’d been touching him, I expected him to be frantic, for him to hold me in place while he fucked up into me hard. Instead, he was slow, deliberate, and most of all, loving. He whispered sweet words of love from below me, telling me that he was sad to be leaving again so soon, and that he would get back to London as soon as he could — all as I moaned on top of him. I wanted to cry, to tell him to stop, that he was only reminding me that we weren’t just having sex, but we were also saying goodbye. I liked hearing Harry tell me he was going to miss me, because I knew that now I no longer had to hide my feelings from Will, I was going to miss him terribly,and that scared me.

The first wave of intense pleasure hit him suddenly, his head falling back onto the pillow heavily and his mouth falling wide open. Holding on to the narrow ledge at the back of the bed, I leant down and grazed his throat with my teeth. Harry moaned my name and started to move his hips with increasing speed and force. With his hands on my ass, gripped so tight, I wondered if his rings would leave a mark, if I'd be leaving with two hand prints on my behind, but I sensed the time for slow had passed.

Hitting me out of nowhere, I felt an intense and rapid build, deep in my core. My toes curled, my vision filled with hot white light, and I heard myself begging for him not to stop. Sitting up, I grabbed at my chest, squeezing my breasts as I bounced like a rag doll with his thrusts, and came. Hard. Mouth open in a silent cry, I glanced down at Harry. He was staring at me intently and biting his bottom lip, my moans and contractions around him bringing him closer to the edge.

His hands flew to my hips. "Don't stop!" he groaned, eyes closing and head tilting back, losing himself to his moment of bliss.

I was exhausted, my thighs trembling and body spent from my own orgasm, but I kept going, enjoying the vision of Harry's ultimate joy, and hearing his voice crack as he called my name.

Seeing the expression on his face change as the sensitivity hit, I gradually slowed my hips before finally coming to a stop. I leaned down and laid my head on his chest, listening to his heart pounding loudly in my ear. I was uncomfortable, and he was now soft inside me, but neither of us had the inclination or the energy to move, so we lay in silence and savoured the feeling of being together. Exhaling for what felt like the first time in months, I kissed the patch of skin closest to me, the scent of pure Harry making me feel heady with love.

"Can we stay like this forever?" I mumbled, my lips brushing against his collarbone as I spoke.

"I'd have no problem with that." Life slowly returning to him, his hands rubbed my lower back while he tried to stifle a yawn. “How am I meant to cope without this for so long when I only just got you back?"

I sat back up and looked down at him stretched out and blissful beneath me. I could feel him slipping out of me, gravity doing its thing, but I still felt closer to him than I ever had. The ‘L’ word was still floating above the bed, his little smile and his hand stroking my legs just sealing that neither of us would rather be anywhere, or with anyone else.

“I think the answer to that is not to be away so long.”

Scoffing, he propped himself up on one elbow and ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking the loose waves of knots that had formed. “I don’t get much of a say on that, sadly. But… maybe you could come see me?”

I raised my eyebrows and blinked at him, stunned by his unexpected suggestion.

“What about taking our time?”

“It’s hard to want to take my time when we’re together. I’m just thinking you could come to LA. I’m going to be there for a little while and we could still take things slow.”

Before I had a chance to respond, he was pulling me down to kiss him, rolling us over so he was back on top, still nestled between my legs. The weight and warmth of his body tempted me to agree to go wherever he asked me to meet him, hating how long it would be until we’d be like this again if I didn’t go. I didn’t feel safe or secure with anyone like I did with Harry. He brushed the side of my face with the backs of his fingers and lightly kissed the tip of my nose.

“I’m not trying to rush things. I just want to see if we can make this work.” Giving me a lopsided smile, he looked at me coyly. “It would be nice if we could see each other outside of a hotel room.”

“I dunno, H. This is a nice hotel room.” I watched as he giggled and got momentarily distracted by how gorgeous he was. “Y’know how in books, authors always describe someone’s eyes twinkling?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, his eyes doing just that as he smiled at me in amusement, and probably wondering what my point was.

“What’s cute is that yours actually do that.”

“Well, maybe it’s because looking at you is like seeing stars,” he smirked, fighting hard not to laugh.

“Oh god! Harry you’re so cheesy sometimes!”

“I know, but you love it.” Harry burst into laughter, his cheeks reddening slightly at the rare compliment I had given him. I liked the way it made him look- loving the praise- but he was also not used to it coming from me. The way we were talking to each other felt different, I was enjoying the silliness of our conversation, and the fact I could tell him things I liked about him without feeling guilty. With an overwhelming swell of emotion, I wrapped my arm around the back of his neck, lifted my head, and kissed him deeply.

Bodies pressed together, my legs wrapped over the backs of his thighs, and our tongues caressed in a matched movement, I felt the first flash of true happiness in months. I pictured going to Los Angeles with Harry, maybe staying with him, having him all to myself in somewhere other than a hotel room in London. Taking things slow was definitely the right thing to do, but it was hard not to let myself imagine doing those things with him.


	11. The Tears

  
A sigh escaped my lips as I sat on my sofa one Monday morning. I took a bite of my toast and stared at the tv, not even really paying attention to the fashion segment on screen. My mind was elsewhere. I let out another sigh, a happy and content sigh.

Finally, I felt happy.

There were, of course, daily moments of stress, even entire days where I wanted to just stay in bed and ignore the world, or where one word would open a floodgate of tears. But mainly, I was happier than I had been in years.

My house was starting to take shape. I’d managed to do a decent job of painting the front door a bright and welcoming red colour by myself.

Work was ticking along nicely, and I was starting to feel confident in my role as I dealt with clients. I stopped thinking about my failed marriage, and focused on how I was helping two people hopefully have a better marriage than I had. Nothing felt nicer than watching two people who’d stressed over little details for months realising it didn’t matter when they came face-to-face at the altar. Even the most trying of brides could be forgiven during that moment of waiting with her to make her grand entrance, with her hands shaking, eyes tearful, and the biggest, most excited grin on her face. It all seemed worthwhile.   
And Harry made me happy. Really happy.

It had been a few weeks since we'd fixed things, and though our relationship was conducted mostly via texts and calls - he'd even sent me a love letter- things were amazing.

It was odd, I was in no rush to get married again, if ever, but I’d occasionally allow a little moment of fantasy when I’d be watching a first dance, picturing what a wedding with Harry would be like. In my head, he was in a suit, I was in a wedding dress I actually liked, and his smile was so wide and warm, it felt like standing in a sunbeam. I imagined he’d be the kind of new husband who wouldn’t leave your side, spend all day using your new name, and calling you his wife at every opportunity. He’d look at you as if you were the centre of the universe, face aching from smiling so hard, but not noticing because he’s so happy and in love. I liked picturing Harry that way — a way I doubted I’d ever see him.

A way that was unlikely to be my future.

I didn’t know just how true that was until I was sat at my kitchen table, with Rose next to me as the bearer of bad news, and a newspaper spread out in front of me, informing me that Harry was now dating someone else. The happiness I’d experienced while I’d eaten toast on my sofa seemed like a long time ago.

I was back to feeling broken.

“I swear to fucking God, Lil, if you don't kill him, I fucking will!” Rose fumed next to me.

She’d been raging since she’d arrived, waving the paper wildly as she ranted about what a toe rag Harry was. I’d looked at her, confused, mouth still filled with toast, and waited for an explanation. She’d thrown the newspaper down on the table and began to babble how sorry she was, that Harry was an absolute shit, and that maybe it was a good thing so I could start completely fresh.

“‘You going to tell me what you’re babbling on about, or...?”

"He was obviously good for a while, and I'm glad that you had fun, but he can go fuck himself!"

Frowning and still confused, I’d looked down at what she was furiously pointing at and saw the headline she’d seen, in bold white letters on a black background.

**ONE AFFECTION**

Next to that ingenious headline was Harry, hat-adorned head down, and shoulders hunched as he held hands with a girl I knew to be an actress; her head was also down as her long, dirty blonde hair fell gently around her face. She was tall and slim, and I'd seen her in interviews, so I knew she was funny and intelligent too.

The one consolation I took was that her hair had looked dry and frizzy in that interview.

Still numb and in a trance-like state, I sat with Rose in front of the spread out paper and reread the whole story. With extra pictures too — goody!

The photos showed them holding hands and then getting into a car, in what I guessed was Los Angeles. Harry was smiling at the girl, a smile that seemed to say he didn’t care that he was being photographed with her. The other pictures were of more hand holding as they walked into a restaurant, faces serious and trying to stay hidden. He’d placed his hand on her lower back- the anchor tattoo we shared highlighted by her simple white T-shirt- as he guided her inside. I’d spoken to him only the day before.

I felt sick. Worse than that. I wanted to puke the entire contents of my stomach all over their displays of affection, then photograph the results and send it to him so he knew exactly what I thought of his ‘relationship’.

“Are you alright?” Rose asked after a few minutes, her tone softer and less angry. “I’m so sorry he’s done this to you again.”

“I'm fine. It's fine. Y’know, I’ll be honest, I'm not feeling… great. But, let's face it, after finding my husband in bed with another man this is bloody small fry in comparison!” I scoffed, trying to laugh it all off but feeling my face start to burn with shame and embarrassment. “Karma really did a number on me, didn’t she? It's what I get for cheating on my husband with a well-known manwhore.”

“He’s a dick!” Grabbing a pen, Rose started to draw tiny penises on Harry’s face and scribbled out the actress.

“No, he’s young and famous, and I’m... Well, me.” Resting my elbows on the table and putting my head in my hands, I felt the flood of tears I could no longer hold back start to break their way through. "We've spoken nearly every day since we cleared things up, and all along, he was doing this!"

Rose clamped her mouth shut, clearly wanting to say more but hesitating to do so. I could see the pity in her eyes.

I hated that more than anything.

A sudden burst of anger hit me and I pushed the paper off the table, sending it flying across the room. I didn't want to see it anymore — to see him hold that girl’s hand like he held mine, to see him touch her and smile at her. I’d believed everything — believed that he loved me, believed that he wanted to make us work. Having come to expect more from Harry, I realised that it was all my own fault; I should have been prepared for this from the start. I felt like the biggest fool on the planet for thinking he’d been genuine, for thinking someone like Harry could really love someone like me. Once again, he was side-sweeping me with some leggy woman who looked nothing like me.

I didn’t fit the stereotype of expected girlfriend for someone like him, and he hadn’t even given me the courtesy of admitting it.

After slamming my palm down on the table, hard enough that the impact reverberated up my wrist, I stood up and started to tidy the mess, taking huge pleasure in dumping Harry and his ‘girlfriend’ in the rubbish bin.

“Y’know what?” I ranted through gritted teeth. “You’re actually right! This is probably a good thing. I can concentrate on me and my life now! It was fun while it lasted, but I should have known it was all too good to be true.”

“So what are you going to do?” Rose asked, looking at me with pride for demonstrating that I did actually have a backbone.

I took a deep breath, put my hands on my hips, and fixed a wobbly smile to my lips.

"I'm going to work.”

Once I got to work, I felt like a swan. I looked calm and collected, but deep down, out of sight, my heart rate was beating through the roof. I was finding it hard not to scream and shout with an almighty rage. I felt bereft and — once again — like if I didn’t have Rose in my life, I’d have nothing. Ever since I’d left Will, I’d tried hard to work on my issues of abandonment, suppressing the constant voice telling me that everyone would leave me and I was never the first priority in anybody’s life. But it was all bubbling to the surface, threatening to erupt in a place where people didn’t know me in that way. I hadn’t even told most of my colleagues that I was getting a divorce. I really didn’t want to breakdown in front of them about something I couldn’t explain.

Trying my best to focus on the words that seemed to dance on the computer screen in front of me, I heard my phone vibrate loudly against my desk with a call. Only hours before, I’d have felt excited and happy to see his name on my caller ID, but now it made me want to throw up. I ignored the call, and watched the screen go black as he gave up. But then came several rapid-fire texts.

 **Harry**  
_Call me, baby, please_  
_Lil, whatever you’ve seen, it isn’t what it looks like_

Four missed calls.

 **Harry**  
_I love you, Layla, please call me or reply to me or something so I know we’re okay._  
_I’m sorry, please answer the phone._  
_Please Lil._

Feeling sick and tired of watching my phone light up as he refused to leave me alone, I switched it off, hoping that he’d get that message. There wasn’t really anything else to say, and I didn’t want to be on the end of another 'it’s over' conversation. His choice was obvious, he didn’t need to explain things further.

There was no denying that I was absolutely heartbroken. As the week went on, he was seen with her every day. Like playing with a loose tooth, I couldn't stop looking at pictures of them together. She was younger, prettier, and thinner than me. Her breasts probably stayed where they were when she removed her bra — if she even had to wear one, of course — and her waist didn’t have that extra roll for Harry to have to hold when he was on his knees behind her. I wanted to hate her, to place all the blame on her for having tempted him away from me, but I couldn’t. I’d catch sight of my thirty-one-year-old body and understand why I was the woman kept to clandestine meetings in hotel rooms while she was the woman who everyone saw him with.

Trying not to lose myself down a rabbit hole of self-hatred, I’d blink furiously and curse myself for thinking of them together. Especially thinking of them having sex, and imagining that the only time they were seen was when they had dragged themselves out of bed to go and get food.

Pictures of Harry leaning in to whisper in her ear, while they waited to be seated in a restaurant, made me imagine that he was telling her he couldn't wait to get back home and eat her for dessert. It was torturous, and a never-ending cycle of me imagining them in various positions and scenarios, internally scolding myself for it, only to do it all over again.

As that week drew to a close, new pictures of them together emerging didn’t hurt so much. I came to terms with the fact that Harry had very clearly moved on. Our last meeting had obviously not gone as well as I'd hoped. I suspected that the only reason he'd kept talking to me, and was desperately trying to contact me, was so he could get his booty call when he was in London. But, he'd have to go looking somewhere else because I didn't want to know.

Rose’s solution was to get me out on the town, drown my sorrows, and maybe kiss someone else myself. Her job in promotions meant she ran opening nights for new clubs, or special events for companies, so she was trying to drag me along to a launch party for a magazine in some pretentious, swanky nightclub.

I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay home and eat my own body weight in chocolate, but in typical Rose fashion, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

"I just want us to go out and have fun!" She cried out, trying to rally me for her cause. "Harry fucking Styles can go fuck himself!"

"You've already said that."

"Hmmm, you're right." She pinched her bottom lip thoughtfully. " Okay! I want to cut Harry's dick off and wear it, engraved with his name, around my neck like a trophy!"

Recoiling, hand on my chest, I gasped out loud and looked at her in horror. "Rosemary Jane Fullerton!"

"Too far?" With a giggle, and angelic flip of her hair, she shrugged. "Oh well, it's true! So, are you coming out or what?"

I sighed and tried to decide if I could muster the energy to be around people. Maybe, I thought, it was time I stopped wallowing in self-pity and started enjoying single life. I’d spent the majority of my twenties in an unhappy marriage. If I sat at home miserable because of Harry, leaving would have been for nothing. Going out with Rose, even if it meant being sat by a bar, drinking alone for a huge chunk of the night, would be a good thing! I’d put on a cute dress, wear my favourite heels, make myself look pretty and try to have fun!

“Yes, fine!”

**♡**

 

_**A/N**_   
_I'm going to be taking a little posting break while my new beta catches up on chapters._ _I've_ _also had to do_ _some_ _rewrites_ _on_ _my rewrite thanks to my delightful fibro brain._

 

_See you all in a_ _couple_ _of weeks to find out if_ _Harry_ _really has_ _been_ _a naughty boy!_

 

_Thank_ _you_ _for_ _all the amazing comments and love._ _You're_ _all stars! ♡♡♡_

 


	12. Superman

My phone was off, and I had easy access to a barman who was easy on the eye and really good at making cocktails. What more could I need?

Going out with Rose was a great idea. While I sipped on a very strong margarita, she was busy bossing everyone around in a very professional manner, only stopping now and then to sniff my drink in hope that the fumes would help to calm her down. She seemed stressed, but I knew from experience that she loved every second.

"Pace yourself," she reminded me, taking my glass away, "I want us to have some drinks later. I convinced my friend Frankie to take over in a few hours, and Dee said she’ll put our names down at the club she’s playing tonight, so we can head there after."

"I will try my best, but this is going down too well." Grinning at her sweetly, I signalled to the barman - who had told me his name was George - for another. “Two more and I’ll have some water. Promise.”

Rolling her eyes, she wandered off and left me to my cocktail. I sat and watched as guests started to arrive- journalists, quite a few famous faces, and the odd ‘celebrity’ who’d attend the opening of an envelope. My stomach flipped when a group of people arrived who I knew to be friends of Harry’s. He’d been with them the first few times we’d met, and one of them- the DJ Nick Grimshaw- even smiled at me when he saw me looking in his direction. Harry had told me he wanted me to meet them, that they were around my age so we'd probably get along, and I’d been touched by that. I’d found it sweet that he wanted me to meet his friends, but now I knew it was all just bullshit.

His texts had finally eased off, and though I’d woken up to a couple, he’d been quiet all day. I wasn't quite ready to block his number, but there was a heavy feeling of relief that he'd finally got the message.

“Are you okay?” Rose appeared by my side, grabbing my glass for a second, and sniffing it before sadly taking a swig from her bottle of water, “I won’t be too much longer at the door, almost everyone who RSVP’d is here. An hour, tops!”

“Take your time! I’m enjoying myself people watching, celebrity spotting, and spending some quality time with my good pal, tequila.”

“Y’know, all those years of Will abandoning you at parties makes you my ideal work companion,” she teased, adjusting her headset, "you can come again!"

“I’ve been training for this night my entire marriage.” I raised my fists in a mini celebration, but Rose didn't laugh, and even in the low light I could see she'd gone a funny colour. “Rose, are you okay?”

I held up my glass to waft it under her nose, and she surprised me by taking it from my hands, throwing its contents down her throat and grimacing. She turned to stare in the direction of the door, but I couldn't see what had got her so distracted.

"Is there a fight?" I was trying to bring her back to earth, and she slowly nodded. “Rose?”

“Uh…yeah,” turning her head to look at me, she touched my arm gently and rushed off towards the door.

Shrugging, I slid off the bar stool. Having consumed enough alcohol, I was comfortable enough that I could bar bop subtly on my own and not feel too idiotic. The sooner Rose finished and we could go dancing, the better.

Suddenly, Rose came rushing over with a frown on her face and what looked like a tequila shot in her hand.

“Drink this,” she commanded.

“No salt or lemon?” I giggled, stopping when she didn’t laugh back.

“Drink it!” Too nervous to not do as I was told, I downed it and pulled some not so pretty faces as it burned my throat. While I recovered, Rose whispered in my ear, “You needed that shot because Harry just arrived.”

“What?!” I squeaked. “I thought he was in LA! Is he with... her?”

Rose shook her head, and I felt some relief. My knees were shaking but I felt calm, I suspected that had something to do with the tequila.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“I have no idea! He wasn’t supposed to be coming. We were told they were all out of the country, I don’t know what he’s doing here.” Rose was panicked, her eyes darting around the room as she looked for Harry. "That's why I invited you, I categorically knew not one member of that bloody band were going to be here. And to make it worse, they let him in despite me telling them to wait for me! I promise I will find him and ask him to leave."

“What do I do?” My knees wobbled and I gripped onto the aged wood of the bar with one hand, and onto Rose’s arm with the other. "Do I go find him?"

“Don’t you dare! You stay here, and you wait to see if he finds you. He fucked you over, and going to find him because you know he’s here gives him the upper hand.” I nodded, and she continued, “Oh, and if someone hot comes to talk to you, turn on that charm. George is single! Fuck Harry Styles!”

“I think you’ll find out that’s what got me into this mess in the first place.” I grimaced.

"I need to go look for him, make sure he's 'welcomed' before I boot him out," she sneered, and rolled her eyes, "will you be okay?"

“Of course!” Waving her away, she left to go find Harry while I did my own scanning of the room.

Knowing Harry’s habit of appearing out of nowhere, I wanted to be prepared. I had instructions to stay where I was, but I was torn over what to do. Did I approach him? Did I wait for him to approach me? Did he know I was even here? Should I leave before he had the chance to find out where I was? My only hope was that Harry found me before Rose found him, she hadn't entirely been joking about the maiming; I'd seen her choosing a chain and the font she wanted his name engraved in.

I was glad the music and chatter in the venue was louder now, pleased that it drowned out how heavy I was breathing as my heart thumped in my chest. Spotting Harry chatting to Nick, the thumping stopped and my mouth dried up. He looked so good, his hair seeming to be longer, and the amount of buttons he did up on his shirts lesser each time I saw him. I ached with how much I wanted things between us to be okay, but I also wanted to shout and scream that I hated him for breaking my already fragile heart. I’d never experienced a moment so bittersweet as when he turned and looked me in the eye.

Watching him weave his way through the crowd, I wished Rose would appear and stop him from getting any closer. I knew that once he was in front of me, my resolve would weaken and I’d believe any excuse he gave me. I wanted to be strong, I wanted to tell him to leave me alone and never darken my doorstep again, but strength and I were not exactly bosom buddies when it came to Harry, and it was not something I’d been known to exercise before. Nothing seemed more difficult to me than being angry with him when we were in close proximity, no matter how much he’d hurt me.

Things were calm to begin with.

He kissed me on the cheek and asked how I was. I noticed he was shaking slightly as I asked the same. George appeared with a fresh margarita I didn’t recall ordering, and asked Harry what he wanted to drink. Despite the tension in his stance, Harry managed to politely decline, waiting for George to leave before asking, “Can we talk?”

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about, do you?” I smiled at him and sipped my drink, mentally thanking George for what tasted like extra tequila. “Sure you don’t want a drink? That very handsome barman makes a mean cocktail.”

“I’m sure.” Harry was fully in front of me now, my back against the bar so I couldn’t walk away easily, his face serious and unyielding. “And I think we have plenty to talk about.”

“That's where you're wrong, go enjoy the party, Harry, your friends are probably really happy you’re here.” I tried to turn my back on him but he stopped me.

“I’m not even supposed to be in the country, yet I turn up at a party organised by your best friend because I don't know where you live. I'm not here to have a good time!” He was annoyed, and seemed scared that I was so indifferent to him being there. Rubbing his brow, he continued in a softer tone, “I’m sorry, I’ve been on a plane all day, but please, Lil, can we talk?”

Suddenly we were interrupted. Harry Styles, deep in conversation with a random woman at the bar, was obviously of interest.

“Can I get a photo of you two.” The photographer said without it really being a question, raising his camera ready before he was even asked.

I was about to refuse, but Harry surprised me by nodding. Pulling me close, he slid his arm along my lower back until his hand was resting on my hip. We both smiled and pretended we were having a good time. I stood close to him, breathing in his aftershave and wishing he didn't make me feel so weak.

We were left alone again, and I took a deep breath to stay strong. Harry, however, was back to looking frustrated and annoyed that his grand gesture hadn’t quite gone to plan, that I wasn't eager to forgive him. He’d fucked up, and he knew it.

"Can we please go somewhere and talk?" He asked, hand remaining on my back. "Please?"

"Fine." People were starting to look at us, and as the last thing I wanted was to cause a scene, I reluctantly conceded, "but only because if Rose sees you, she will kill you."

Luckily for Harry, Rose was by the exit, dealing with the unsuspecting employee who’d let him in despite being told not to. She spotted me and left her scolding to one side for a moment, turning to me with a look of concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m going to head off if that’s okay?”

“Of course, but don’t leave because of him! I haven’t fou- ” She looked behind me, and I felt Harry’s hand on my shoulder “-nd him yet, but it looks like you did.”

Despite talking to me, Rose glared at Harry with a look of pure unadulterated hate and disgust. His grip tightened on me, and I knew he was feeling the fear instilled by her death stare. There was zero chance of him not knowing how much my best friend despised him.

“It’s okay.” A meagre answer was all I could manage. This wasn’t the time to be discussing the reason I was leaving with him, partly because I had no idea why. "I'll call you when I get home, if it's not too late."

She hugged me tightly and warned me to be careful. Promising I would be, I left with Harry following quickly behind.

We managed to leave the bar relatively unnoticed. There were a few paparazzi taking photos of Harry, but I walked ahead, kept my head down, and went ignored and unseen.

As I climbed into his Range Rover, I considered getting back out and going back to the party. I was dressed for a night out, sat in Harry's car, and I felt ridiculously overdressed. I knew there was little chance of the conversation going well, that I would only end up heartbroken and in tears. I wondered if I should just call it quits in the car and go have fun with Rose and Dee. But I stayed put.

Music blared from the speakers when he started the engine, the Rolling Stones filling the car at such a volume we both jumped in surprise.

“Shit!” Turning the stereo down angrily, he grimaced at me, “Sorry.”

I waved my hand that it was fine but refused to meet his eye, just turned to look out of the tinted passenger window as we started to move. Harry's fingers tapped on the steering wheel nervously, and he sang along to the radio quietly. On the surface, he seemed to be quite relaxed despite the tension, but I was starting to know him well enough that I suspected he was just masking his nerves well. It had started to rain so traffic was slow, and inside the car there was a soft red glow from the tail lights in front as we came to a stop.

"You look beautiful," Harry spoke, reaching out to squeeze my knee, a small smile on his lips. We locked eyes, and I could see the worry in them that he'd fucked things up beyond repair. Sadly, he said, "I love you."

“Harry, just because I’m coming with you now don’t think that everything’s okay.” I brushed his hand off, and he put it back on the wheel with a frustrated huff.

We started to move forward again, but quickly came to another standstill. Harry’s tapping was more frantic now, his irritation at our slow pace becoming evident as he huffed again. I could feel myself growing anxious, my neck and shoulders beginning to tense, and I was finding it hard to breathe. Harry of course was just being impatient, just as anybody would in slow moving traffic, but for me all I could think of was Will.

Reluctant to make conversation, but needing to defuse the situation before I broke into a full scale panic attack, I asked, “Are we going back to yours?”

He glanced at me quickly, annoyance instantly fading as he hoped me talking to him was a sign I might be softening, despite having just told him that wasn’t the case. I let it slide, relieved he’d stopped tapping, and his grip on the wheel relaxed. But then all I could do was picture those same hands as I’d been seeing them all week - on someone else’s body.

“Yes, is-is that alright? I mean, we can go to-"

"No.” I cut across him, certain I didn't want him to know where I lived so he could go back to his habit of turning up unannounced when he felt like it. “Yours will be fine.”

“Lil, I-“

“Ugh! Harry, stop!” I snapped, “just...stop. I’m here aren’t I? Focus on the road and get us back to yours so we can get this over and done with.”

Nodding slowly, Harry turned back to face the slow-moving taillights and started tapping his finger anxiously again.


	13. Million Reasons

I didn’t know what to expect from Harry’s house, but if I’d had to hazard a guess then it would have been pretty close to what I got. Getting out of the car, I looked up at the tall, oddly shaped, white house and stopped myself from giving a cartoon whistle to display how impressed I was.

The gravel beneath my heels, and the alcohol in my system, made me wobble slightly as I walked to the front door. Normally, I would have hooked my arm with Harry’s, using him to lean on and steady myself, but the tension between us had doubled and he hadn’t said a word since I’d snapped at him. So, I tread carefully and sighed with relief when I reached the doorstep without toppling over, hopping up onto it, glad to be back on steady ground. I caught Harry’s amused smirk as he turned to open the door, and out of habit, I playfully poked his side before remembering why we were there.

He ushered me inside and led me into the living room, which continued to meet my expectations of the space he lived in. It was homely and comfortable, with white walls, and pieces of art and iconic photography of rock stars hung in various places. The floor was a dark, varnished wood with a patterned rug at the centre of the room. There were large comfy sofas, and bookshelves filled with photo frames containing pictures of family and friends. The room was cozy and welcoming, but from its neatness I doubted he really got the chance to spend too much time there.

Wandering over to look at his bookshelves, I perused his varied reading material before getting distracted by a photo of him as a toddler; he had blond hair with the tiniest of curls, but the big eyes gave him away. His chubby-cheeked smile was big and happy,and I felt my womb twitch as my thoughts ran away from me- ‘Harry’s going to make beautiful babies’. Moving along to more recent pictures, I didn’t need to see the ones of him being adorable when I was so angry with him, but perhaps this had been the plan all along. I liked seeing how close he was with his family. I recognised his mum, and worked out that the girl who was in a number of the photographs was his sister, Gemma. I couldn't see much of a similarity, but they looked close, and I felt the same small pang of longing I had when I saw Rose with her sisters.

“Did you want a drink? Water? Tea?” Harry offered from behind me, drawing my attention back to him. "Something stronger?"

Clearly feeling relaxed in his own space, he flashed a charming smile but it faltered when it was met with coldness. I liked being in Harry’s space, it truly felt like an extension of him, but it didn’t change anything. There was no point in me getting too comfortable if it was unlikely I’d ever be there again.

Folding my arms across my chest, I spoke with as much of an icy tone as I could muster, “I’m fine. Give me your explanation, and then I’ll be off.”

“Please, at least sit down,” he laughed nervously, “my floor boards would thank you.”

Looking down at my heels lightly denting the wood, I rolled my eyes petulantly and went to sit down with a great reluctance. I deliberately chose to sit in one of the armchairs so he couldn’t sit next to me, and it was also an added bonus that it was a different seat to the one he’d gestured to. It felt childish, but I needed to show him that I was the one in control of this situation. Point scoring was all I had.

“So, who is she?” I asked, desperately trying not to lose my temper. We could handle this like adults.

Harry grabbed the nearby footrest and sat it in front of me. Dropping onto it heavily, he tried to hold my hand, but I tore it away and sat back, crossing my legs to try to keep a barrier between us. He looked sombre and tired, not saying anything, and when he finally held his hands up, he struggled to make eye contact with me.

"I fucked up, baby, I admit it."

The pain I felt was physical and deep, like he'd kicked me hard in the stomach with one of his pointed designer Chelsea boots. I felt sick, and my heart seemed to suddenly ache like I could almost feel it breaking, and as I covered my face with my hands, I started to cry. Hard. I hadn’t cried all week, no matter how upset I felt. Tears had sprung to my eyes a few times, out of frustration or hurt, but for some reason I'd held onto a small hope that he had had an excuse, that there would be some sort of valid reason I hadn't thought of. But instead, he was guilty.

Now I couldn't see anything as tears blurred my vision and streamed down my cheeks, I wanted nothing more than to sob and cry like a baby. My world shattered into a million pieces, hearing him admit that once again I hadn't been enough.

"I said who is she." My voice was deceptively strong as I carefully wiped the tears away, things were shit enough without ruining my makeup entirely. "Is it serious?"

“She’s… just a friend." Voice low, he himself was close to tears, but I didn't feel sorry for him. I wanted him to hurt.

“She looked like more than a friend to me, Harry. Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

He looked up at me, and my heart ached even more. His eyes were red and watery, tears pooling and slipping down his cheeks. I could see his grasp on composure slipping, and my coldness was making it harder for him to maintain. He dropped his head back down, sniffing and wiping his face with the back of his shirt sleeve. Reaching his hand out, he gently touched my knee, but I pushed it off, making him flinch.

"I thought about being in a relationship with her, she wanted it but-”

“But?"

“But...it's you, it's always you, Layla.” Lifting his head back up, the desperation was visible. “It’s you I want.”

"Don't give me that shit, Harry, you fucking had me!" I yelled, angry with him, and angry that I was starting to feel sorry for him, "I don't understand what changed between the last time I saw you to seeing you with another woman! Did I say something that seemed like I wouldn't care if you fucked someone else? Please, enlighten me with how the fuck you came to that conclusion!"

I stood up suddenly, needing to get away from Harry’s close proximity and the images of him and her lost in each other with no regard for me. Nausea hit me at the thought, and I had to stop myself from bending over in agony. All the things I'd spent the week imagining suddenly seemed so agonisingly real; his grunts and groans mixing with her breathy moans and whimpers while they connected under his cotton sheets. He’d whisper that she was beautiful, and when he did, he’d actually mean it. She’d not only been seen with him but had probably been in his home, all while I remained the dirty little secret.

I felt ugly. He'd been so reluctant to truly be with me, placating me with talk of shouting it from the rooftops, but it was all bullshit. I was the good lay he wanted to keep in the background while he paraded in public with actresses and supermodels.

"No, it's really not like that, Lil." Harry shook his head and spun on the stool so he was facing me, "I'm just...struggling."

"You're struggling!?" I cried out, incredulously. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself down and asked, "what exactly are you struggling with? My age? My divorce? The fact I’m not some skinny model slash actress who’s seven foot tall? What part of this should make my heart bleed for you, Harry Styles?"

He frowned and shook his head again before taking his own deep breath and clearing his throat. I assumed he was trying to rid the emotion so he could explain carefully, hoping not to make things worse by saying the wrong thing, because he spoke even slower than usual, and thought out every word.

"I’m struggling with everything about our situation, Layla. I love you so much, but I have the people I trust the most telling me not to get involved with you. Not because they think you're a bad person, but-" I scoffed, and he sighed, "-they don't Lil, but even you have to know that if we ever go public, everybody will rip us to shreds. You will be dragged through the mud. They'll say that you took advantage of me, that you're with me for my money, there are even a crazy bunch of our fans who will say you're my latest beard."

I flinched at those words, they stung. The wounds from Will and Terry were barely healed, and I didn’t know if I could go through having that word thrown at me. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, I took off my heels and watched as my toes wiggled with relief at being freed from their prisons.

“I've learned to drown out most of the outside critics, but my friends and family? I can't even mention your name without getting a worried look, concerned that I'm making a huge mistake,” Harry continued, words speeding up as he grew more anxious, probably worrying that I wasn't understanding his reasoning, “and... I guess it happened so often, I started to think that maybe they were right.”

“Why didn’t you say this before? You could have told me this! Or, you could have just left me the fuck alone and not convince me that you loved me!” Bursting into tears, I tried to brush them away with my fingertips, but it was useless, they flowed thick and fast. "I was fixing my life, Harry! The night you contacted me, the night I'd been drinking with Will, he asked me if I'd heard from you, and I told him I didn't expect to hear from you ever again. I'd have been happy that way, happy thinking you didn't love me."

Harry stood and came to sit next to me, tentatively placing a hand on my knee. Craving comfort, I let him touch me, and even placed my hand on his while I sobbed.

“Because I do, baby! I love you so fucking much, and being with someone else made me realise, I’d lose it all for you.” He reached up and stroked my face, thumb wiping my cheeks to dry them, "I don't care what everyone else says. I know you, Layla, but I want to know every part of you, good and bad. I just have to make sure that you know how hard it will be when people find out about us."

"Is there even an us anymore? How do you do this to someone you love?" I bit back a sob, I was confused and hurt but I'd never seen Harry so open. He was hardly a closed book with me at the best of times, but he was always so positive, determined that we'd make it. Now he was filled with foreboding and sadness. "I don't know if I can get over this."

"Please, say there is, I want there to be." Moving to the floor, he kneeled in front of me and looked up at me, desperate and raw, and with fresh tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. "I fucked up, and I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm begging for it. It’s you I want, and I don't give a fuck who knows it."

“What about,” I wrinkled my nose and waved my hand dismissively, not wanting to even say her name, “her?”

“I won't ever see her again," he pulled out his phone and showed me her name in his contacts, deleting it before my eyes. Moving to his messages he showed me those too - the last few being about him coming to see me, and her wishing it went well for him - and then deleted them all. "Layla, I am being more serious than I have ever been about anything. I love you, and if it has to be me and you versus the world, that's the way I want it."

"Does everyone really hate me?"

I sounded small and pathetic. I’d never ask him to make that sacrifice, but I doubted he’d choose me even if I did. I’d had a lifetime of people never choosing me unless they had to. It was hard to conceal my abandonment issues from Harry when everything was so raw and I was so tired.

"They don't hate you, Lil, they're just worried about me, worried I'll end up hurt." He held my hand and kissed the back of it, his lips warm against my skin.

I looked down at the top of his head and stroked his hair, wondering if I should just get up and walk out, call a taxi, and never see him again.

Like our first ever meeting in the hotel, I pictured myself getting up, kissing Harry goodbye, climbing into the back of a taxi and blocking his number. I'd go home and get on with my life, work hard at my job, and live day to day as a normal person. Maybe I'd even meet someone in the future and get married again, have children and become the mother I'd never had. Harry had said he knew me, wanted to know everything about me, but my childhood traumas were rearing their ugly head because of everything that had happened over the year. I couldn’t imagine Harry wanting to know or deal with that mess, I didn’t want to deal with it, so how could I expect him to? Maybe, I thought, the naysayers that surrounded him were right to warn him about being with me.

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. The future I was picturing was like picturing the human body with  the heart missing. Harry was my heart - I’d just been someone who only found joy at the bottom of a wine bottle before I met him. He’d messed up, big time, but I almost understood what he’d done in an odd twisted way. At twenty, he was wiser than his years in so many ways, but I imagined that anyone of any age would find the mess we were in hard to navigate. It was head or heart for both of us. Harry was following his heart, and as I couldn’t imagine being without him or ever feeling as happy as he made me, I had to do the same. Walking away from Harry was walking away from a chance at happiness with someone who I loved, and for some reason loved me back.

In the aftermath of everything with Will and Terry, the verbal battering I'd been taking from Verity whilst trying to navigate my divorce, and the upheaval of almost everything in my life changing, I wanted to cling to Harry. He made me happy, and there was very little to be happy about. I wasn't sure I could get past what he'd done, but as numbness set in, I knew I needed him to make me feel better.

"Okay," I whispered.

Sitting up, Harry searched my face to make sure I was certain, "I'm so sorry for hurting you," his voice cracked, "I'll never, ever do it again."

The words I wanted to say wouldn't form in my mouth so I just nodded and let him hug me tightly. I wanted to beg and plead with him to promise that he wouldn't ever do it again, I wanted to make him see just how exhausted I was by everything and couldn't take another hit. I wanted him to know just how close I was to my breaking point, and how having to see him with yet another woman would finish me off entirely. All of that sat in my throat, clambering to make its way out, but it remained unsaid, and I chose to pretend it didn't matter.

I chose to let him get away with it.


	14. You've Really Got A Hold On Me

  
Harry's heartbeat thumped out a loud, steady rhythm in my ear as I lay my head on his chest. We were both silent, and though it wasn't the comfortable silence we usually shared, it was preferable to the shouting and screaming of earlier.

I was lost in thought, still debating whether or not backing down and forgiving Harry had been the right thing to do, but the feel of his hand running slowly up and down my back was comforting and making it hard to stay to stay wrapped up in the anger I'd been feeling all week. It was easier to push down the images I'd created of him and her together and pretend everything was fine.

Having had very little sleep, and way more to drink than I'd realised, I could feel myself growing sleepier with every passing second. So, I fought the thought that I could easily fall asleep where I was. I forced myself to sit up and stifled a yawn.

"Where are you going?" Harry groaned, trying - and failing- to pull me back into his arms, "I was just about to fall asleep."

"That's because you can sleep anywhere." Stretching, I looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was nearly midnight. "Anyway, I think I should get going."

The sleepy smile he'd been looking at me with switched to a frown, and he shook his head. "Nope! Absolutely not. You're staying here with me."

Giving me a suggestive smile, he sat up, placed a hand on the back of my neck and kissed me. His lips moved gently, bottom lip soft and plump as it brushed over mine, giving me quite the persuasive argument for staying. I felt a hand on my knee, disappearing under my dress and running its course up my inner thigh. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by Harry's intentions, I stood up and ignored his puppy dog expression.

"I have nothing to change into, Harry, and my days of doing the walk of shame are long gone." I forced a laugh, picking up my clutch bag from where it lay on the arm of the couch. "Where's your bathroom?"

"Uh...top of the stairs, first door on the left." He grabbed hold of my hand as I went to walk away and kissed the back of it, before mumbling against my knuckles, "I'm not letting you leave y'know? I like having you in my home."

Deep down, I knew staying would be a bad idea, I didn't want to be around him in the way I usually did. I wanted to go home, to collapse in bed with my clothes on, and wake up tomorrow with a stinking hangover, which I'd make better with a large pizza. But with things still on shaky ground, a part of me knew that if I left, he'd go back to LA and back to her. So, with a heavy sigh, I gave in once again.

"Okay, fine. You win."

Harry grinned triumphantly and jumped to his feet. Coming to stand behind me, he placed both hands on my shoulders and led me out into the hallway.

"You go upstairs, and I'll make you some tea, or you're going to feel awful in the morning."

"I think you're probably right," I groaned, already feeling a little fuzzy. "I may need some paracetamol too if you have any, pre-empt the headache."

"I'll see what I have."

Alone in the bathroom upstairs, I sat on the edge of the bath and had a quiet moment to myself.

The night had been full on, and my head was spinning. I was starting to sober up, and mixed in with the nauseous feeling and faint ache in my head was the hard reality of what had happened. What Harry had done.

Rose was going to be furious with me for forgiving him, of that I was certain. I already dreaded the next time I saw her because she wouldn't hold back from telling me what a fucking fool I was being. She wouldn't understand the reasons I gave, she'd only see the pathetic answers and me making the same mistake I'd made with Will - choosing to believe what I wanted to hear.

Sending her a quick message to say I was fine and I'd see her on my next day off, I decided that Rose was a problem for future Layla to deal with. It would be the Layla who wasn't emotionally wrecked, drunk, and desperate for love who'd stand up to her friend. For now, the Layla who was all of those things just longed for bed.

I fixed my make-up the best I could, took a large deep breath, and readied myself to face Harry again. Opening the bathroom door, I yelped loudly at the unexpected sight of him. Arms up over his head, he held onto the door frame, flashing me a knee-weakening, lopsided smirk at my surprise.

"Jesus Christ, Harry!" I scolded, with a considerable amount of genuine anger. "You scared the life out of me!"

"Sorry," he chuckled, his gaze slowly drifting over me and oblivious to my anger, "I just thought that - as good as you look - you might want to change into something more... comfortable."

Raising my eyebrow at him, I said, "Is that your way of telling me you want to get me naked?"

His arms came down as he laughed, eyes crinkling in the corners, "Yes, it absolutely is."

Kissing the tip of my nose, he held my hand and finally sensed I was annoyed. His hands flew up to cup my face, and he stood as close to me as he could. Reluctantly I looked up at him, my expression petulant and unable to lose its attitude.

"I'm sorry," he said, genuinely, "I was trying to be silly, but I understand if you're not in the mood."

His apology softened me, it was so heartfelt and true that I felt silly for overreacting to a prank. I wasn't angry with him for being playful, and the reason I was angry, I'd chosen to get past.

"It's fine," I muttered, "I'm just tired and a bit sensitive, I guess."

Harry nodded seriously and put an arm around my shoulder before leading me to his bedroom.

Like the bedrooms of most twenty-year old men who lived on their own, I was expecting his room to be a tip; clothes strewn in piles everywhere, an unmade bed that's so covered in jism it could be snapped in half, and a weird unplaceable, musty smell that doesn't leave your nostrils for days. But maybe that was just Will's bedroom because other than a half unpacked bag on the four-poster bed, and a towel on the floor, Harry's was impressively neat.

Like downstairs, there were white walls with more art and photography hung on them. Opposite the bed, there was a TV on the wall, and below that a plain, dark wood chest of drawers. It was simple but cosy.

Trying to picture him doing his own cleaning and hoovering, I reached down and picked up the towel, folding it neatly as I looked around. I caught Harry smiling at me, and with a nervous giggle I handed it back to him.

"Sorry, force of habit from picking up after Will."

"It's okay. Thank you."

His smile remained as he walked into his ensuite, and when he reemerged a few seconds later, I sat on the bed and waited for some explanation as to why he looked like the cat that had got the cream, which only made him grin further.

"What are you so happy about?" I eventually asked as he hummed away happily and rooted through his drawers for something I could wear.

Laying down on my side, I ran my finger over the thick, leather notebook in front of me, which was covered in his handwriting and doodles. He paused his rummaging and turned to look at me. Eyes meeting, his smile changed and turned into something that was much more devilish in its intent but no less soft. Abandoning the drawers, he came over to the bed and stood so our knees touched.

"Seeing you in my room, lying on my bed, surrounded by my things, it's making me very..." looking down, he watched the tip of his finger stroke over my knee, "...very, very happy."

"Why?"

"I've thought about you being here a lot, wished we didn't have to hide away in hotel rooms." Harry shrugged shyly before kneeling down and pressing his lips to the inside of my knee. "You look like you belong here, Lil."

Closing my eyes, I tried to relax and enjoy his touch. Downstairs, his wandering hands had made me a little uncomfortable, having spent all week picturing them on someone else, but I wanted to move past that discomfort. His fingers travelled up my inner thighs until they met the lace trim of my panties. He pulled them one side, and then his head disappeared under my skirt.

Everything was as it should be - the long, measured strokes of his tongue, the way he wrapped his arms around my thighs to hold me close, and even the setting of us being in his own bed. But I couldn't block out the nagging voice in my head telling me his tongue had probably made the actress feel just as good.

I tried to wipe the thoughts from my mind by forcing moans from my lips until they became genuine and conscientiously focusing on each move he made. But each time I'd begin to enjoy myself, my thoughts would go back to her. Her Hollywood perfect body spread out on a bed, Harry's other bed in Harry's other home, while he made her writhe and whimper in ecstasy.

The whimper that filled the room was not one of ecstasy but of agony as I tortured myself and wondered if he'd told her she looked like she belonged.

Somewhere, in the foggy battle my mind had become, I heard a noise come from downstairs, which sounded like the front door being closed. I was about to brush it off as my imagination, when a female voice travelled up the stairs from the hallway, "Harry, you home?"

The fog cleared, and my eyes widened, anxiety rocketing through me in an instant. I looked down expecting Harry to stop, but realised he hadn't heard with my thighs clamped around his ears. His tongue continued to tease until I pulled up my dress and tugged at his hair repeatedly. His mouth was still on me when he looked up at me questioningly.

"There's someone downstairs!" I hissed.

"Harry?" The voice called again, louder this time, causing panic to flit across his face.

Wiping his mouth, he got to his feet quickly and adjusted his obvious erection to hide it. The nagging voice of paranoia in my head questioned if it was another girlfriend, and it must have been written on my face because he told me, "It's my sister Gemma, she's been staying here while I was away."

I sighed with relief but it was short lived because, as he tied his hair back, he added, "Why don't you come and meet her?"

"Oh...uh, really? I'm not sure it would go so well."

My attempt to decline was feeble and half-hearted. I wanted to make a good impression on his family, and although I was exhausted physically and mentally, I knew it would look worse if I didn't even say just a quick hello.

"Please, Lil, I'd like you to," he said, leaning down to kiss me and quickly adding, "of course you don't have to if you rea-"

"No, no, I want to. Just give me second and I'll follow you down."

Happy I'd agreed, he left the room with a reminder from me to make some tea. I stayed sat on the bed for a little while longer, wishing I could just turn off the lights and crawl under the covers. Eventually, I stood up, squared my shoulders, and went downstairs to finally meet Harry's sister.

From the hallway, I followed the sound of talking and found the siblings in the kitchen. Stood around the large, kitchen island, they fell silent when they heard my feet on the while marble tiles, and while Harry's face lit up, Gemma - who I recognised from the photographs in the living room - looked a lot less excited.

Increasingly aware of just how overdressed I was, I tugged down the hem of my dress and went to stand next to Harry. He handed me a mug of milky tea and kissed my cheek before saying to the very pretty girl opposite us (who was not impressed), "Gem, this is Layla. Layla, my sister, Gemma."

Harry was beaming with excitement, but I wished I was just hiding away upstairs, or that I was still as drunk as I had been earlier so I didn't feel so nervous. Even when I'd met his mother, I'd had wine, but all I had now was the beginnings of a headache and a cup of tea with no sugar. I looked dreadful, I was tired, and my dress seemed far shorter and sluttier than I recalled it being at the start of the night when I'd told Rose I felt frumpy. The setting was not in my favour and I imagined only added further evidence that I was not the woman for Harry.

Gemma gave a tight smile, and even from the other side of the kitchen island, she was unable to disguise her wariness.

"I remember seeing you at the premiere," she said, her accent considerably less thick than her brother's, "your husband was there too, right?"

"Gem." Harry shot her a warning look, but I rubbed his back to let him know that I was fine.

"Yes, my soon to be ex-husband was there, but we weren't there together," I answered with a polite smile, wondering if she knew the whole story. "It's nice to meet you finally, Harry's told me a lot about you."

"We don't know that much about you."

Her reply was cold, and I felt a piece of me shrivel up and scuttle away, my intentions to be strong for Harry's sake following quickly behind.

I wasn't surprised by the animosity, and having suffered through Verity's jibes for years, I was kind of used to letting them wash over me. But I had wanted to try and convince Harry's nearest and dearest that I wasn't the Scarlet woman I imagined they thought I was, but that I truly loved him. The night's events, however, had left me battered, and I was too tired to try and convince a mind already made up. So, lowering my gaze and holding onto my mug, I clamped my mouth shut and said nothing. Deep down - as Harry took the cue and changed the subject - I told myself that all Gemma was doing was what I would do in her position - protecting Harry.

For a little while, I listened to them chat, liking how easy their conversation was. Gemma was debating whether she should go back to her place as Harry was home, or if she should spend the night now that she was there. She'd been out to a movie with friends, and had the fright of her life when she'd arrived at his house and seen all the lights on. Harry told her she was welcome to do whatever, and that he'd be going to a party in the afternoon. He'd be leaving again the following day.

My stomach cramped painfully at the thought of him leaving again, automatically jumping to the conclusion that he'd be going back to the actress to pick up where they left off. Involuntarily putting a hand to my tummy, I accidentally nudged Harry, and his focus was back to me.

"Are you alright? Do you feel sick?" He asked, hand stroking my back in a circular motion.

"A little," I grimaced, trying to avoid looking at the judging eyes of his sister. "And I'm really tired."

Thankfully, and for what felt like the first time all evening, he took the hint. Turning my head so I could look up at him, he cupped my face and pressed a loving kiss to my forehead. I looked for permission to leave, for a sign he wouldn't be hurt or think I was rude, and thankfully he gave it.

"Why don't you go upstairs, and I'll be up in a minute."

"Are you sure?"

Harry smiled softly, amused by my concern, but having no idea of the years I'd spent worrying a simple thing like tiredness would be punished. Still, he repeated that it was fine, got me a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and told me there were painkillers in his bathroom cabinet.

Gemma and I exchanged frosty 'good nights', and with the same feeling of relief I got after working a wedding, I practically ran from the kitchen to the safety of Harry's room.

Checking my phone for the first time since I sent a message to Rose, I saw a message from her that only added to my queasiness.

 **Rose**  
_You're a fucking idiot._


	15. War Of Nerves

  
Crawling into Harry's bed, I expected all the anxiety of meeting Gemma, Rose's text, and Harry's infidelity to keep me awake. But as soon as I laid my head on the pillow, and inhaled the scent of Harry on the white cotton bedding, I fell asleep fast.

Dreams came quickly though, strange ones where I was trying to sleep on the bar I'd been in earlier. Gemma and Rose were there, and although I was scared they would fight, they instead loudly discussed what a mistake Harry and I were together. I tried to drown them out, pulling the bed covers over my ears, but then Harry's friend, Nick, was also by my side telling me how great the actress was. I tossed and turned in my peculiar spot atop the bar, and wished they'd all shut up so I could sleep.

In my confusion, I felt the duvet I was wrapped up in move, and I gradually felt sleep slip away as I realised Harry was climbing into bed next to me. My eyes opened to total darkness, and I let out a sleepy groan, unsure where I was.

"Everything okay?" I asked, mumbling into the pillow.

Realising I was now awake, Harry wrapped an arm around my waist, threw a leg over mine, and nestled his face into my neck making happy noises. For a little while he didn't answer, just kissed my shoulder and along my jaw while warming his cold feet on mine. Eventually he let out a sigh, which tickled over my skin, and whispered, "I'm sorry about Gem, she's just being... protective." Rubbing the tip of his nose over my earlobe, he added, "go back to sleep, darling."

There wasn't a hint of sleepiness in his voice, and I realised he was still working on a different time zone. Lifting my head to look at the red digital numbers of his bedside clock, I saw it was almost two a.m., and though I felt exhausted, I'd slept enough that I was now awake and sleep wouldn't come easy.

"I know she is." Placing my hand on his as it rested on my stomach, I settled back against his chest comfortably. "She's your big sister, of course she wants to protect you. It's fine."

"I just really wanted her to meet you, even if the timing was...off." Harry's mouth was now close to my ear, lips brushing over it and making my skin tingle. "I'm sorry it was awkward, she promised to be better behaved next time."

"Is she still here?"

"Yes, but she's gone to bed and will be gone before we wake up so you won't have to face her."

"Okay."

Rolling me onto my back, he put his face close and mumbled against my lips, "Can we stop talking about my sister now?"

"Yes," I giggled as he kissed me.

Soft and slow, his kiss was welcomed. I could feel his heart hammering against the palm of my hand, and I wondered if it was from excitement or from apprehension that I would stop him. Unlike earlier, however, I didn't want him to stop. I liked being in his bed and kissing him, I'd missed the weight of him on my chest and hearing the little moans he made as his kiss grew more fervent.

The hand that had been resting on my stomach started working its way slowly down south, fingers making stroking movements on my skin. His attentions brushed over my pubic bone, and skipped over where I was starting to tingle, to touch my eagerly parted thighs. Palm cupping my heat, I felt the tip of his middle finger at my entrance, dipping into me just enough to make my hips push up for more.

 _'I wonder what she likes',_ the voice in my head asked before supplying me with a fresh image of Harry and the actress in bed together, him doing what he was doing to me. ' _I wonder what she does to him that I don't'_.

Pushing the thought away, I whimpered as his wet fingers gently brushed over my hub. But the arousal I'd felt moments earlier quickly faded, and all I wanted was for him to stop. I started to feel like I was suffocating from his closeness, and his kisses made me want to retch. As he slid his fingers into me, I couldn't take any more, and pushed at his arm.

"Harry." Body rigid, my voice sounded cold in the dark, with no trace of desire. "Harry, please stop."

His hand pulling away was almost enough to make me cry with relief; the pictures of him and her in my head fading away almost instantly and just leaving behind the worry of what I was going to say next.

"It's okay, Lil," Harry breathed, kissing my forehead lightly. "What's the matter?"

He asked, but he didn't need an answer. Reaching over to the bedside lamp, he turned it on, and we both squinted in silence for a few minutes while our eyes adjusted to the dim brightness. I sat up and folded my arms onto my raised knees, wishing I'd gone back to sleep. The night seemed to be going from one disaster to another, and I wanted it to end.

Suddenly, Harry got up out of bed and walked over to the chest of drawers he'd abandoned searching through earlier. I'd been so tired that I hadn't cared about needing something to wear in bed, but now I felt uncomfortable being naked.

His silence scared me, and as I held my knees tightly to my chest, I tried desperately to work out if he was upset with me. Logically, I knew he'd never be upset by that, but old habits die hard, and I was used to walking on eggshells. Will and I were no longer together, and he seemed to have become a different person, but he'd left me mentally scarred, and it wasn't until I was with Harry that I realised just how much.

Unable to take more silent treatment, my bottom lip quivered like I was a child while I said, tearfully, "I'm sorry."

Pulling out a plain grey t-shirt, Harry came back over to the bed and handed it to me. I went to take it, but he kept hold of it until I looked up at him.

"Layla, you have nothing to be sorry for. Okay?"

He let go of the shirt and waited as I put it on. It was slightly snugger on me than it would be on him -our size difference and me having breasts meaning it clung to me more.

Harry got back into bed, and I let him settle against the pillows before laying back down. Face to face, and holding hands, we stared at each other and said nothing. His thoughts seemed as far away as mine, but we stayed connected in our shared moment of turmoil over what would happen to us.

"You have a sister, don't you?" He asked all of a sudden, the far off look in his eyes disappearing.

Completely thrown, I froze involuntarily at the question. My family and childhood were largely a mystery to Harry, and although I'd planned on telling him, the night's events had squashed that idea. Everything was already so fragile, I couldn't picture our relationship handling another blow. So, for the moment, I kept it to myself.

"Uh, I do. She's younger than me so I understand why Gemma's protective of you."

He gave a wry smile, rubbing one of his eyes tiredly as he did so. "My friends and family have seen me go through a lot of shit, all because of who I am, or who people think I am."

I nodded, but before I could change the subject, he continued, "Do you see her often? I don't really know much about your family."

Closing my eyes, I searched for an answer that didn't sound too vague but still indicated I didn't want to talk about it.

Harry was looking at me intensely when I reopened my eyes, and I decided that some honesty was needed. Our relationship was borne from lies and deception, I didn't want this to be another dirty secret.

"I haven't seen any of my family since I was a teenager," I explained, surprised by how steady the words came from my lips. "It's very difficult for me to talk about. Especially when I'm tired, and I've been drinking, and the night's been so emotional already. I will tell you, but just-"

"Lil," Harry soothed, cutting off my increasingly fast explanation, "you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Laughing so I didn't cry, I was reminded of something, "Rose reckons you must have done some sort of background check on me, looked for any skeletons in my closet."

As if noticing it for the first time, Harry ran his thumb over the empty space on my ring finger, where a pair of white gold rings had sat until recently. It was still oddly shaped, the base of the finger narrower than the others, and occasionally I would still have a moment of panic when I saw they weren't there, terrified that Will would lose his mind over me losing them. Then I'd remember they were in my jewellery box, and that he'd refused to take them back when I had offered them.

"They're of no use to me Lil," Will had said, glancing at Terry coyly, "I'd rather you keep them, or even sell them if you really don't want them."

"I thought about it," Harry spoke, letting go of my hand and bringing me back from my thoughts, "but I don't want to know anything you're not ready to tell me."

The truth was on the tip of my tongue as he sighed sleepily and let his eyes fall to a close, hand idly going back to play with my ringless finger. I wanted to tell him about Paula and Bianca, about the nightmares I repeatedly had of the day the three of us were found in that grotty, filthy little flat, about how his betrayal had triggered me to have them again. I wanted to lower that barrier between us, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was trying my best to move on because I couldn't imagine not being with him in one way or another, but he'd betrayed me again, and I couldn't spill my darkest secret to someone who I didn't truly trust anymore.

My hangover and exhaustion began to grow, but so did the worry that if I slept, I'd end up having a nightmare next to Harry. I knew from Will having to wake me that I'd whimper loud enough to wake him, calling out for my mother, and soaking the bed with sweat. I didn't want Harry to see that, so we watched TV for a short while until he suggested we take a bath.

The idea of a hot bath to soothe my aching feet sounded divine, and with the added bonus of that said bath being shared with him, I couldn't refuse. Dragging my tired body out of bed, I followed him into the bathroom and nearly wept with joy seeing the roll top bath already full with steam rising invitingly off the water. Still dark outside, Harry had lit a few candles, and the only other light came from the bedroom. He climbed in the tub, and I followed, settling between his legs and resting the back of my head against his chest.

"So, what do we do now?" I asked, breaking the first genuine comfortable silence all night.

"What do you want to do?" Harry replied, kissing the top of my ear gently.

"Helpful."

Stroking the hair on his knees, I watched as he amused himself by lifting my boobs up and pressing them together, seemingly enjoying the view of them being wet and glistening in the candlelight. Finally taking my question a little more seriously, he chuckled and wrapped me up in a hug.

"Layla, we talked about this the other month. If I could, I'd shout it from the rooftops, but do you really want the world to know yet? Because the world will know, and they will have a field day."

I considered his reply in silence. He was right. I didn't want his fans or the press to know about me, they would rip me to shreds. But he hadn't been so bothered about keeping the actress a secret, he'd been quite happy to flaunt that several times in front of waiting paparazzi. Once again, it crossed my mind that Harry was maybe ashamed to be seen with me. There were ways we could be together without it being a secret, and without it being tabloid fodder too.

"Like we said before, yeah?" Harry prompted, nervous he'd upset me again. "We'll just take our time."

"Yeah, of course."

"I love you, Lil."

For the first time, my tummy didn't flip hearing those words. Instead, they just tightened the knot of anxiety, sat like a weight in my stomach, and encouraged the voice in my head, telling me I'd made a terrible, terrible mistake.


	16. Golden Slumbers

Getting home from Harry's late in the afternoon, I headed straight to bed. It was already dark outside, and I had work early in the morning, so despite having done nothing but laze around all day, I told myself six o'clock was a perfectly reasonable time to go to sleep on a Saturday night.

With my bed still covered in the remnants of the previous night's mad panic over what to wear, I threw everything onto the floor and got in. Harry had given me clothes of his to wear, joking as I'd put them on that they'd remind me of him when we were apart. But although I'd told him to piss off, and rolled my eyes, in my cold empty bed, I pulled the duvet tight around me and pressed my nose into the sleeves of the grey, hooded sweatshirt, which smelled so strongly of him.

It had been a good day, a day of laziness and finally being able to be in Harry's personal space. He made me tea and scrambled egg on toast to ease my hangover. I did the washing up after to say thank you, and then we lay on the sofa watching movies (he'd almost been personally offended when I'd told him I had never seen 'The Notebook') and talking. As we cuddled up, swapping occasional kisses, things didn't feel as broken as they had the night before. Finding it easier to suppress the mental pictures of him with someone else, our kisses grew from soft pecks to a hungry need, and we ended up having sex on his couch.

But the connection was lost. We'd always been so in tune with each other, clicking instantly from the moment we'd first kissed, and that was gone. Having sex didn't make me feel closer to Harry anymore, it just felt like we were going through the motions. I clung to him, and silently cried, telling myself that it was normal to be upset, that I had made my decision and had to face it head on. But I hated every second, and from his silence afterwards, so did Harry.

"Are we going to get through this?" He'd asked quietly as we said goodbye, fear showing itself despite how hard he was trying to hide it.

"I... I hope so."

He'd nodded, letting go of my hand so I could get out of the car. I was relieved to escape the tension, and glad to get away from him. Harry needed the kind of reassurance that I couldn't give, not without lying to him anyway.

"Lil," I heard him say, just as I was about to close the car door. I considered pretending I hadn't heard him, but decided against it. "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

Sighing heavily, feeling like I had the weight of the world sat directly on my shoulders, I shrugged. I wanted to ask him how he expected me to know that he loved me just because he said it. I didn't feel particularly loved. All I felt was that he knew what I wanted to hear, because everything he was saying was right, but it just didn't seem to be working despite how much I wanted it to.

"I love you too, Harry. Enjoy your party."

Closing the door with a satisfying slam, I walked away and headed home.  
  


I'd known the dream was coming, I'd been waiting for it all week. It had left me alone during my separation from Will, I'd slept easily with very few dreams, but I knew as I succumbed to slumber, with the sleeve of Harry's hoodie pressed against my face, that I'd be visited by my recurring nightmare.

It started differently. Usually, it was a play by play of the morning I'd found my mother, then flashing forward to little bits of the two days I remembered and hadn't blocked out. I called it a dream, or a nightmare, but really it was just the way my brain seemed to want to remind me that, no matter how much I tried to bury what happened, I couldn't forget it all.

The little odd details I'd picked up on while I sat in a near catatonic state came back; the tan fringe on the tatty, threadbare sofa, which I used to idly run my fingers over as I watched TV after school, the sunbeam streaming through a crack in the curtains that I watched drift through the room on repeat (and when it slowly slid over my mother's corpse being the only time I could actually look at her). The smell of death and all that comes with a recently decaying body, mixed with Bianca's dirty nappy, which she ended up tearing off out of discomfort. Her cries were the other thing I could never forget, a loud desperate wail, calling for me to do something, or for Paula to wake up. Had she not cried, I'm unsure if we'd have been found before starvation kicked in.

But this time, it felt different, more like an actual dream than a memory. The sunbeam didn't move from Paula's face, and she seemed to be smiling. Bianca wasn't crying but her small, chubby hand was in mine like always, reaching through the bars. Most of all, the only thing I could smell was Harry - warm and comforting and safe. I looked around the room, and he appeared next to me on the horribly patterned seventies carpet, sitting and holding my hand. Filled with the same shame I was always overwhelmed with when he appeared in my nightmare, I started to cry, my sobs sounding more like Bianca's than my own. I knew that him being there would mean he'd stop loving me, now that he knew my darkest truth, he was seeing me for who I really was.

"Lil," Harry spoke, softly, reaching up to stroke my hair, "I love you."

The loud sound of hammering on the front door made us both jump and turn, everything returning to being how it had been when my sister and I were found. The police and social workers breaking into the flat, recoiling and covering their mouths at the stench, a police woman called Amy reaching down to pick up Bianca before passing her to someone else who carried her out, wrapped in a blanket, and the state of stillness I'd been trapped in breaking as I managed to let out a howl. This time though, through all that, I felt Harry's hand in mine, and the echoing words, 'Lil, I love you'.

The noise and commotion of what seemed to be a never ending stream of police, social workers and paramedics continued, persistent and annoying until I woke and realised my phone was vibrating loudly on the cabinet next to my bed. Sitting up, confused and uncertain I wasn't back in that room, I looked around at the stillness of my own bedroom, inside my dark and silent house. I didn't have Will to wake me up, to calm me down, to make me a hot drink and soothe me back to sleep, so I struggled to adjust back to reality

Turning my attention to my phone, I picked it up and saw it was almost midnight, but best of all I saw Harry's name.

"Hey you!" I cleared my throat and answered, knowing he'd be at the very least tipsy from the event I knew he had been going to.

"Can I come to yours?" He asked, voice croaky and laden with alcohol, "I don't know if I can go home to my empty bed after you've been in it."

I had work early in the morning, and I'd hoped for a better first time to have Harry in my house, especially as things were still so fragile. We'd gone to his home the night before because I hadn't wanted this, him turning up when he was drunk. I wanted to be more than a drunk dial. But I couldn't get rid of the feeling of the dream I'd just woken from, I felt shrouded in filth and knew no matter how many showers or baths I took, I'd have that feeling for days. I wanted to hear Harry tell me he loved me in person, to feel his body pressed against mine as I put my face against his neck and fell asleep. I needed Harry to remind me I wasn't that scared little girl anymore, that he didn't see me like that, that he never saw any of that part of my life in me.

"Yeah, sure, but remember I have work early in the morning."

"Okay, I'll be about half an hour."

We hung up, and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I switched on the bedroom lamp and felt the memories slip even further away. I was in my home, in my bed, in London, with Liverpool and my childhood far behind me. Placing my feet on the varnished wood floor, finding comfort in the cold on my bare soles, I mentally grasped at the things around me. This was my life now, and little Layla James was no more. I'd escaped that time and place, and though it was hard in the moments directly after such a screaming reminder, I had to remember who I had become.

I quickly showered before Harry's impending arrival, hoping to wash away the ghosts of a dirt long gone. The hot water helped a little, but nothing lifted me like the sound of the doorbell ringing and seeing Harry's tall frame outlined in the mottled glass of my front door. Rushing to open it, I hugged him tightly as soon as he was inside.

He chuckled against my ear, arms wrapping around my waist, and whispered, "I was expecting you to be annoyed."

"No," I mumbled into his chest, smelling the night on him, a mix of cologne, cigarette smoke, perfume and alcohol. I almost questioned the perfume but it was faint, and I found myself not caring, all I cared about was him being there with me. "No, I'm glad you're here."

"Shall we go to bed?" Kissing my temple, there was no subtle suggestion behind his question. He was just happy to be with me.

I looked up at him, and remembered how things had been without him in my life, and what agony the previous week had been. I couldn't lose him, I couldn't lose what we had. Reaching up on my tiptoes, I pressed my lips against his and parted them with my tongue. There was some hesitation at first, a reluctance that made me momentarily doubt myself, but it passed quickly, and Harry kissed me back.   
  


Drawing blood was a new one, but as Harry continued to make my whole body shake over and over without me being able to make a noise for fear of waking up my neighbours, the heel of my palm had to bear the brunt. I wanted to cry out as his tongue circled where I was most sensitive, flicking at the swollen hub occasionally to enjoy watching my body jerk, but all I could do was pant and bite down.

Suddenly, his mouth left my wetness, and without giving me a chance to recover, he lay next to me and pulled my weak and trembling body onto him, his cock sliding into me with ease despite how tight I felt, and a whispered expletive fell from his parted pink lips as he filled me up all the way. He gripped onto my hips with such an iron-hold that it was almost painful, his rings digging into me and making me wince.

"Baby, 're you okay?" He asked, his breathing already laboured, and his eyes hooded and dark as he thrust up into me.

I could only reply with a sharp nod, feeling every move he made with such intensity I couldn't string a sentence together. Every part of me was alert and tingling, shiver after shiver ran down my spine with every move he made and every touch he gave. Gripping onto the metal bed frame, I held on as he slammed into me with a force I'd forgotten he was capable of. The need to throw my head back and fill the whole house with the sound of my primal screams was overwhelming, but all I could do was whimper loudly with every thrust.

His roughness was what I needed, I needed something to replace the way my nightmare had made me feel, and I couldn't think of anything better than Harry fucking the torment out of me.

"Fuck!" He moaned, reaching up to pull me down, burying his face between my breasts.

Mouth open and slack, his hot breath scorched my skin beneath it, soothed only by his lapping tongue. Swearing again, Harry came with a loud but muffled groan, which vibrated against my chest. His hands grabbed at my behind hard, pulling himself deeper, making me cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain.

When he let go a moment later, I slid off his limp body and collapsed heavily onto the bed next to him, both of us breathing ragged, and covered in a light sheen of sweat. Reaching out to stroke his side, and get his attention, he turned his head to me, a dopey post coital grin on his face.

"Better than earlier, yeah?" I asked, feeling myself growing sleepy and pulling the covers over us.

Harry nodded, signalling for me to come closer, "Much better."

Laying my head on his chest, I sighed happily and closed my eyes. I'd lost everyone else, I just couldn't lose Harry.

"We'll get through this," he mumbled, sleepily, "I know we will."


	17. Moth To A Flame

"Hello?"

"It's Layla."

There was a long, painful silence over the intercom, followed by a faint buzzing, signalling the door being unlocked. Pushing it open and walking into the building, I nervously ventured up the stairs to Rose's flat with a heavy sense of trepidation and an agonising knot in my stomach.

Rose had spent the previous three days ignoring me. I'd sent messages, I'd tried calling her, I'd even reached out to Dee, but all I got in return was silence and an apologetic stance of not wanting to get involved. Rose had never behaved like that before with me, so I knew she was on an entirely new level of furious, and I knew she wanted to tell me that directly to my face.

The front door was open when I reached it so I warily entered, preparing myself for the possibility of her coming at me mid-air with some sort of flying kick. But instead, I found her in the middle of her living room, with her hands on her hips, foot tapping steadily against the rug, and with an expression that told me she was taking no prisoners. I was about to get a piece of her mind, and something told me I was not going to like what she had to say, no matter how true it was.

"Hi," I muttered with an awkward grimace, holding up a bag that contained a box of doughnuts, "Careful, they might get squi-"

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that, don't you?" She said coldly, with no trace of humour as she took the bag and promptly dumped it on the sofa completely disinterested.

"-shed."

Rose was not playing. Sacrificial offerings of food were not going to placate her this time, it would take a lot more for her to calm down and see reason. I only hoped that we could reach an agreeable position before things became too serious.

"Come on then," I said, sitting down in the armchair and steeling myself for some home truths, "say what you've got to say."

Rose took a deep breath, I assumed more to calm herself than prepare for a monologue. When she opened her mouth, the words came out measured and steady, which felt scarier than if she'd yelled them.

"I'm sorry, but you are letting Harry walk all over you like you let Will. You know I love you, and I support you in whatever you choose to do, but...I can't sit back and watch you make the same mistake again. I'm sure whatever lie he told was very convincing but-"

"He copped to it, he admitted he fucked her."

Her eyes widened, and her face flushed puce with a fresh, deeper wave of anger. I wished I'd kept my mouth shut because all her composure flew out of the window, and a full tirade of fury spewed from her. Harry and Rose could never be in the same room again because she would tear him limb from limb and wear his skin as a trophy of her kill.

"He did WHAT?!" She bellowed, making me flinch, "Fucking hell, Lil! This is  _exactly_  what I'm talking about! You keep giving him what he wants, then when you do, he fucks someone else! You've forgiven him then, I take it?"

Chewing my bottom lip, I avoided her eye and nodded. I didn't have to put on a front of being strong for Rose, but she'd told me she was proud of how I'd dealt with everything, and I hadn't really ever had that before from anyone. Now she looked at me like I was a prize idiot who would jump at the chance of being taken for a fool by any man who came into my life.

"Layla! He's mugging you off, can't you see that!?" Her voice was loaded with frustration, eyes imploring for me to see sense. I could see it, but that wasn't the problem, the issue was if I accepted her viewpoint, I would lose Harry. "You are both single, he could be with you if he wanted to! Why are you selling yourself short for some twenty year old who's not man enough to say you're together?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, and heard myself pathetically say, "I love him."

Rose didn't attempt to conceal her disgust as she scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Is his dick magic? Does it do tricks? Is that why you've turned into a fucking moron?"

"He poured his heart out to me, Rose." I tried to remember how he'd looked as he'd cried and begged for forgiveness, tried to remember why I'd chosen to believe him when he told me he wanted me and nobody else. "He didn't sugar coat anything to protect me. He has the people he's closest to - his family and friends - telling him he's making a mistake by wanting to be with me."

"Uh...why?" Her sudden frown was deep and defensive. She might have been pissed off with me, but she wasn't prepared to have anyone think I was a bad person. "H's a grown fucking man, isn't he?"

"Did you make all the right choices at twenty? I know I didn't! I thought it was a good idea to marry Will, for fucks sake!" Rose nodded, agreeing I had a valid point. "I'm thirty-one, divorcing a man who's leaving me to be with another man who is in his sixties. Oh! And I'm not some skinny pop-star-movie-model! That would be enough for anyone to be a bit wary, but on top of that, he doesn't even know about how I grew up yet!"

"So, is he having cold feet?" Taking me by surprise, my friend's voice was unexpectedly soft and caring for someone who'd been so sceptical only moments earlier.

"Had. Listen, I'm on my last nerve with worry that I'm going to see new photos of him with her or someone else. But, Rose, he was so genuine when he told me he was sorry, and I know I don't exactly have the best track record with men and their lies, but... I believe him. He told me whatever he had with her is over. I watched him delete her number and her messages, I even saw him tell her he was coming to see me."

Rose sat down on the sofa, her expression tired and upset. I wasn't convincing her, all I was doing was proving myself to be even more of a gullible, brainless woman, desperate for the love of someone who knew how to wrap me around their little finger. Clamping my mouth shut, I accepted that my protests were only doing more harm than good.

After a long gap of painful silence, Rose exhaled loudly and shook her head in despair. We made eye contact, and I saw her soften the tiniest bit as she decided to change tactics.

"Please, tell me that you can at least see how bad this relationship is for you?"

"The beginning of what feels like a stomach ulcer can confirm that I know it's not at its best right now."

She shook her head apologetically, "I'm really not trying to be a bitch, and I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but I can't not say anything like I did when you were with Will."

"I know."

"I love you, you are my sister in every way but blood, and I will always be here for you, whatever you decide. But, I have to tell you that I don't think you should be with Harry."

I wanted to cry. I'd known she was going to be angry with me, and I knew that she was only saying what I would say to her were the roles reversed, but it still broke my heart to hear her tell me I was wrong.

What really stung was that I knew she was right, I just didn't want to accept it. So, with stubborness prevailing, I clamped my mouth shut and merely nodded in understanding.

"Are you okay?" Rose asked, detecting that I was just placating her with my silence.

I wracked my brain for a way to explain the logic behind my choice, searching for a way to make her see that I hadn't forgiven him and accepted that suddenly everything was perfect. Harry had gone back to America, and I'd spent every evening since searching to see if there were any new pictures of him with the actress. And while i'd been doing that, I'd seen all the other women he'd been with, or linked to, and it had been an addictive torture seeing him with them. Models, singers, It girls, television presenters. Sexually, Harry seemed to have left no stone unturned (married housewives were not on the list). Things were far from perfect, but after the night he'd come to my home, I'd realised that the connection we had was worth fighting for. I just couldn't seem to find the way to explain all of that without sounding like an idiot.

"Not really," I mumbled against the back of my hand, trying to hide that I was starting to cry.

"Are you going to tell him about your childhood?"

"I was going to," I shrugged as big, fat tears rolled down my cheek and dripped off my jaw into the open palm resting on my lap.

"I'm sorry," Rose got up and came to sit on the arm of the chair, placing a hand on the back of my head and stroking my hair. "I really didn't want to upset you, I just don't want him to make a fool of you. It won't be like any other relationship, Lil. If you two get found out you'll have to deal with everyone wanting to know everything about you, and they will revel in your misery when it goes awry with Harry."

"I know."

"I hate being hard on you, but you need to fucking grow a pair and stand up for yourself. You need to have a really long hard think about what you want, Lil." The sternness in Rose's voice was back, and her words were hard and commanding. "I know you love him, and I believe you when you say he loves you too, but I haven't seen a lot of him demonstrating that. You deserve more than being someone's dirty little secret, hidden away while he gets his kicks with other women."

Her words hit too close to the worries I'd already been having, but instead of agreeing with her, I found myself beginning to get angry at her judgment. She was right, but the holier-than-thou lectures were not what I wanted or needed.

"Rose," shaking my head with a frown, I gave her a warning glance, "it's not like that."

"Isn't it? Alright, let me guess. You forgave him, you're back to being loved up and happy, but he still wants to keep things a secret?"

"We both want that up to a point! And he's a private pers-"

"Bullshit!" Rose was back up on her feet, arms in the air with exasperation. "Do you hear yourself? You sound so fucking naive! So, he doesn't want you getting hassle, but he's okay with that actress getting shit? And don't you dare tell me it's because she's already famous or I might start pelting you with doughnuts. Aren't you angry?!"

"Of course I'm angry!" I bit, my head snapping up suddenly, very tired of my friend thinking she knew my relationship better than I did, despite her saying all the things I'd been thinking. "I'm hurt, I'm disappointed, and I am furious with him for ruining what we had. But I have made the decision to move on from it because I love him and he loves me. It's really that simple, Rose, so you can like it or lump it!"

"What's simple, Layla, is that if you let him get away with this, he will continue to walk all over you. He's going to cheat on you over and over until you're back to being like you were with Will," she sneered.

"Y'know what." Getting up from the chair, I grabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulder, "I don't fucking need this."

"He's twenty years old and he has the world at his feet, do you want to be another person who just gives him what he wants? Who lets him get away with treating people so badly? I stood by and watched Will treat you like shit, I won't do it again."

"There's a simple solution to that, isn't there? Don't watch. It's none of your damn business anyway!"

My knees felt like jelly as I headed to the front door. Rose and I never fought. We'd bicker occasionally, but it never reached the point where I'd get up and leave. This felt serious, like I was uncertain we'd ever be friends again as long as Harry was in my life. I was always for sisters before misters, and I never wanted to ever have to make a choice, but my hand was forced, and I refused to sit and listen as I was berated for the choices I made.

I never saw a day where I would choose a man over Rose, but I also flat out refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was right and I was wrong. I'd gone to her to mend things, not to receive a lecture about my love life.

"Fine! Don't come crying to me the next time he can't keep his dick in his pants, 'cause you fucking deserve it!"

"Don't worry! I won't!"

I slammed the door behind me hard as I heard her telling me to fuck off. Making my way quickly down the stairs, nausea sat in the pit of my stomach like a heavy weight, accompanied by anger and regret. A fight was the last thing I'd wanted, hoping more that we could at least agree to disagree, but I couldn't sit and listen to someone, anyone, tell me my relationship was bad. I especially couldn't listen when - as with Will - there was a chance she could be right.   
I refused to see sense, and as Harry had said to me, if it was just him and me against the world then that's how it would have to be.  


	18. Keep Me Hanging On

  
The argument with Rose weighed heavy on my mind for weeks, even after we'd patched things up and were on speaking terms again. She was still unhappy with me for forgiving Harry, and stood by her stance that when things went wrong, I wasn't to go crying to her about it, but we both agreed it wasn't worth us losing our friendship over. Things were gradually returning to normal, and the anxiety that I'd find out Harry had been with someone else began to settle. I just couldn't seem to shake what Rose had said - 'If you let him get away with this, he will continue to walk all over you. He’s going to cheat on you over and over until you’re back to being like you were with Will.'  

However, I pushed all concerns to the side as I prepared for Harry's visit. We hadn't seen each other in almost a month, and as Christmas was fast approaching, we planned to do some merrymaking of our own before he went to home to celebrate with his family.    

 **Harry**  
_Just landed at Heathrow, going to go home for some sleep, grab some things, then I'll be over around 7. Can't wait to see you!_

So, when the doorbell rang shrilly through the house at half past five while I was still getting ready, I was somewhat confused. Dressed in fluffy pyjamas, my hair wrapped up in a towel on top of my head, and having only applied mascara to one eye, I was not Harry ready. However, excitement overruled vanity, and I jumped to my feet and ran downstairs to let him in.

I swung the door open with a beaming smile, readying myself to pounce on him and smother him in kisses, but the smile fell as soon as I saw it wasn't Harry.

"Oh.” I could barely disguise my surprise and disappointment, but I quickly pulled myself together and forced a smile. "Hi."

Will and I hadn't seen each other since our drunken afternoon in The Ritz. We spoke on the phone about the divorce every few weeks, to save everything going through the solicitors, and all was amicable between us, but the last person I expected (or wanted) to see on my doorstep was him.

"Hi," he smiled, wary I was about the slam the door in his face. "I, uh, I have some paperwork for you to sign. It's the last thing to do before everything's official so I thought I'd hand deliver and we could have a drink to celebrate."

I blinked at him in disbelief. His reason was weak, neither of us were particularly sentimental about our failed marriage, so I suspected there was something else. But I wanted to keep things friendly, and though I’d have to decline his suggestion for celebratory drinks, I saw no use in being rude over what seemed to be a harmless visit. Regaining my wherewithal, I finally fixed a smile and opened the door wide, inviting him Inside.

“Of course! Sorry, come on in."

He stepped into the hallway, wiping his feet on the welcome mat and shaking off the rain. He looked around with interest as I led him into my front room and signalled for him to take a seat.

"You've been busy! The place already looks completely different to when you bought it." He said, placing the envelope he held onto the coffee table before unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting down.

"There's a lot left to do, but I'm happy with it so far." I answered politely, aware that time was ticking and Harry would be arriving soon, "So! What would you like me to sign?"

My soon to be ex-husband seemed taken aback by my brisk manner, that for some reason I wasn't keen to pretend that we were the best of friends. Regardless of me having plans, it seemed to have slipped Will’s mind that he'd spent the entirety of our marriage belittling me, using me as a trophy wife, and sleeping with the man who was the closest thing I had to a father. The sooner he was out of my house the better because the minute our divorce was over, I'd be cutting him out of my life for good. I’d made my peace with how things were, I held no grudges, but he seemed to think because we’d spent an afternoon getting drunk, and I would pick up the phone when he called, that everything was hunky-dory, which it wasn’t.

"I thought about gift-wrapping them," he joked.

Accepting the papers he handed to me, I looked them over in silence; a request to shut our joint bank account and for the money to be divided equally. There wasn't a large amount, but enough to set up my own savings account so I had something to tide me over should I need it. I knew that once this was done, the decree nisi would be due at any time, so I could finally see a light at the end of the tunnel. I signed my name where I was asked to, put the documents back into the envelope, and passed it back to Will.

“Anything else?”

"How about those drinks?" He grinned, before signalling to my one made-up eye, "Or do you have plans?"

Grimacing apologetically, I made a point of looking at my watch. "I do, I'm sorry. Maybe another time?"

"Are you seeing Harry by any chance?"

The grin on his face told me what I already suspected, that there was another reason for his visit, and he knew more than he was letting on. With no time or patience for his games, I folded my arms across my chest and tried to keep my tone friendly, despite how much his intrusion was pissing me off.

"Will, if there's something else you want to talk to me about, please, just say it."

"So, it is Harry?"

"Uh... not that it's really any of your business, but why do you say that?"

"I've heard some rumours," he shrugged with an arrogant smirk.

My heart was in my throat out of pure habit, but I tried my best to keep my face expressionless. I didn’t want him tainting my already delicate relationship with his poison. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled and remembered I wasn't doing anything wrong, all Will was trying to do was press my buttons.

"What rumours?"

"Someone I know was at some party a few weeks back, he saw you leaving with Harry."

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. "Like I said, it really has nothing to do with you. You of all people don't have a say when it comes to who I may or may not be sleeping with."

"Lil!" Will laughed, holding up his hands in innocence, "Don't get so defensive! I'm just giving you a heads up that people are talking. People think we're still together, and you're seen leaving a club with one of the world’s most sought-after men, so I'm going to get phone calls. It’s no skin off my nose if you two are hooking up."

Suddenly, I felt foolish. I was being defensive, and it wasn't necessary with Will. He had all but encouraged and given me his blessing the last time we'd spoken about Harry. I didn't need to keep my relationship a secret from him anymore.

I was about to apologise, when he added, "He has a girlfriend though, right? Is it your turn to be his bit on the side?"

Will had always known how to hit a nerve with me, and this only proved that he hadn't changed in the slightest. I'd thought being with Terry had brought out the softness in him, that all the nastiness had been a part of some resentment, but the spiteful, hateful man sat on my sofa, taunting me for no other reason than he seemed to enjoy it? That was the real William French.

"Have you told mummy dearest about you being with Terry yet? In fact, did you tell the people calling you that you're with him," I hissed. "Because nobody's asking me how it feels to find your husband in bed with another man!"

"Are you still going on about that?" He scoffed, looking pleased with himself for having got a rise out of me. I'd given him what he wanted, and I regretted taking that bait, but I was too angry to calm down. "You're making it sound like I was the only one fucking someone else! At least Terry and I love each other. How long did it take for Harry to go screwing around?"

I was about to pick up a vase of pink roses from the mantelpiece and launch it across the room at him when the doorbell rang. My stomach lurched, and this time, although it was still too early to be him, I knew it was Harry.

Glaring at Will, I headed out into the hallway, and as I predicted, I saw Harry's nose pressed against the glass. Our relationship was getting back on track, and I'd been counting down the days until I saw him again so we could continue making things right. I hated Will for ruining what should have been a happy moment.

Barely getting the door open, Harry rushed past me, grabbing my hand and pulling me in the direction of the stairs. His hair was tied back, and in his long black coat he looked even taller than usual. I felt a twinge of disappointment that I was having to put his enthusiasm on hold while I dealt with my dickhead husband.

“Upstairs. Now. We can do the tour later." Dropping his leather hold-all down onto the floor, he only stopped and turned to look at me with puzzlement when he was met with resistance. "What’s wrong?”

“Will’s here.”

"Oh." Harry frowned, mirroring my own less than enthusiastic reaction to Will being in the house. “I heard raised voices but I thought it was the TV. What's going on?”

“Honestly, nothing, everything’s fine. I just had to sign some papers, I was in the middle of getting rid of him. Why don’t you go in the kitchen and-"

Harry looked to the closed living room door then back to me. Letting go of my hand, he pushed the door open and walked into the living room with a determined stride. I followed quickly, praying that Harry's arrival would mean Will would get the message and leave. He'd wanted to know if I was waiting for Harry, and what better way for him to get his answer than to see the man himself.

What I hoped didn't happen was a fight.

Will was taken aback by Harry suddenly appearing, like a man who believed in ghosts for years and was seeing one for the first time. He looked at us both, like he was assessing what we looked like as a couple, seeing us together as if for the first time. I didn’t know if either of them had been in the same room as each other since everything had come to light, but from the tension that filled the room, I guessed this was the first time.

With the corner of his mouth pulling up into a twisted smirk, Will sneered, "Bit of a downgrade, eh, Harry?"

The snap of Harry's temper was almost audible, and I grabbed at the back of his coat to stop him from going closer. He turned to look at me, eyes pleading to be allowed to retaliate, but as much as I would have loved to see him wipe the smile off of my husband's smug face, it just wasn't worth the hassle it would cause.

"Will, you need to go." I ordered, moving to stand in front of Harry. "NOW! Leave! You got what you wanted, now fuck off!"

He started to laugh to himself as he cockily walked towards the door, obviously feeling like he'd won. Shoulders back, and with the envelope tucked neatly under his arm, there was no trace of the man I’d made peace with a few months before. I also couldn’t believe this was the man Terry was in love with, or that I'd put up with him for so long.

As he passed Harry and I, he stopped and leaned in close to me, face inches from mine.

"You're a joke, Layla James. You think he loves you, but you'll become boring to him very quickly," he spoke matter of factly. "Being married to me was your only appeal to him, now you’re just some thirty-something single woman with nothing but baggage. Let’s face it, it’s already started. He's going to fuck more girls who are younger, prettier, and definitely skinnier than you. You'll be left alone leeching onto Rose, with nothing but your fat arse and the nightmares of your junkie mother."

I must have physically reacted because Harry burst forward past me and pushed Will away, yelling, "GET THE FUCK OUT! GO ON!"

Out of anyone in the room to throw a punch, I expected it to be Harry, or even myself. But in what felt like slow motion, Will's fist pulled back and shot forward, making contact with Harry's nose. It was sloppily thrown, but it caught him with enough contact that blood suddenly gushed from his face, down the front of his t-shirt, onto my recently fitted cream carpet.

For a split second, time froze, and the three of us stood still in stunned silence, unable to comprehend that things had escalated so much it had come to blows. When Will shook his hand in agony, I leapt between them to stop Harry from hitting him back. He tried to push past me again, his whole weight pushing up against my back, but I slammed my palms against the door frame with a force that stung, and stopped an actual fist fight from truly breaking out.

"Will, you need to get the fuck out of my house or I'm calling the police," I warned, fully prepared to dial 999 and have him carted off. "I'll call Terry too."

To my relief, he took my warnings seriously, I knew full well that Will wouldn’t want Terry to find out about what had happened. With one last look at us, Will left, slamming the door behind him so hard that I half expected the glass to fall out.

"Fuck!" Harry grunted behind me. "Why did you stop me?"

Spinning around to look at him, I wanted to cry as I saw his hands and face were covered in blood. I had never felt more embarrassed and ashamed in all my life. I whipped off the towel that was limply wrapped around my head and handed it to him to hold against his nose. Meekly, I asked, “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” He snapped before adding quickly, “I’m sorry, baby, this just really fucking hurts.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Placing one hand on his back and the other on his arm, I slowly led him through the house, “come with me through to the kitchen and I’ll get you cleaned up.”

“You should have let me punch him, Lil.”

“What would that have solved?”

“It would have made me feel better.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “I know, it would have made me feel better too.”


	19. Only Love Can Hurt Like This

Harry didn’t think his nose was broken. Will’s punch had thankfully been too weak to cause any real damage, but it had connected just right that it took a while for the bleeding to stop. I tried to convince him that maybe we should go to the hospital to get it checked out, just to be on the safe side, but he flat-out refused. Instead, we sat by the kitchen table - which I had dressed for the romantic meal I was planning on cooking - carefully cleaning the blood off his face and hands.

“Well, this wasn’t quite how I’d planned tonight going,” I sighed, dipping a fresh cotton wool pad into a bowl of warm water. He snorted harshly in agreement, and groaned when it made his nose hurt. “Baby, be careful!”

"What was he even doing here?" Harry asked tersely, still trembling with what I figured was no longer anger but shock. He kept shifting in his seat, and his knee bounced up and down rapidly as the adrenaline coursed through him.

"I told you, he only brought some paperwork for me to sign. The divorce is nearly final."

“Already?”

“Well, up until now everything’s been friendly and easy, so it's moved quickly,” I shrugged. “He must have gotten up on the wrong side of bed, because it seemed like he’d been spoiling for a fight since before you got here. I’m so sorry that it was you who ended up in the firing line.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and debated whether to tell him about the rumours. Would that anger him further or would he just shrug it off? Perhaps before the fight, he may have brushed it off as nothing, but I had a horrible feeling that Harry was now counting down the minutes to get away from me. Our relationship already felt like the bus at the end of ‘The Italian Job’ - balancing on a precipice, waiting for one little thing to send it back to being safe so we could drive into the sunset. Or - which felt more likely - send us over the edge of the cliff, hurtling to the bottom and crash landing in a pile of rubble and twisted metal.

Either way, I tried to sound casual as I continued, "Also, he mentioned some, uh, rumours about us. That someone he knew had phoned him to say they'd seen us leaving that party together."

Expecting him to give a much bigger reaction, I was pleased but surprised to see him shrug it off as no big deal.

"I've been asked about that by people I know too," he said as he waved his hand dismissively, "I told them I didn't know what party they were talking about and changed the subject. I'm not worried."

Reaching for a clean tea-towel to dry my hands, I mulled over his answer and how it stung. I already felt like a dirty little secret, and  being seen in public with the actress was fine, but he shuddered at the thought of that happening with me. And now he'd added salt to the barely healed wound by not even defending me as just being a friend! I was nothing, just a reason to change the subject.

"Lil?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we talk about what Will said? About your mum?" There was very little warmth in Harry's voice, and it made me want to retreat rather than confess my darkest secret.

Telling Harry the truth about my upbringing had been on the agenda ever since we'd agreed to him coming to stay with me. I had planned on telling him after the first night, when we were comfortable and had settled back into being in each other's company. But Will had ruined that completely, and Harry's coldness -so different to how he was usually- wasn't exactly the warm and inviting audience I'd hoped for. I cleared my throat and looked down at my hands so I didn't have to see his expression turn to disgust.

"I know I should have told you sooner." My voice shook, and I cleared my throat again before speaking, "but even Rose and Will don't know a lot of it. They know… the basics."

"Tell me what?"

I started to cry - big, fat, childlike tears rolling down my cheeks as I tried to figure out what to say. There was no way Harry would let the matter go if I asked him to, he was too angry and too curious to ignore what Will had implied.

"I don't want you to hate me," I sobbed, wiping my tears away with the back my hand. "I don't want to lose you."

"Just tell me, Layla!" He said, impatiently.

With a tight grip on the red and white tea-towel in my hands, I told Harry everything. I told him about Paula accidentally getting pregnant with me, how she'd lost her job, and we'd had to move. Then I told him about her working in the pub, and then how she started dating Neil and about him introducing her to drugs. I told him about how much I hated Neil, and how I'd gradually become aware of my being a burden to my mother. That I'd spend nights sleeping under the bed because I was scared of the strange people in our flat.

I had to stop for a moment as I started to describe the last time I saw my grandparents, overwhelmed at how much it hurt even more by telling someone and saying the words out loud. Silently, Harry stood up and filled a mug with water that had been drying on the draining board. He took the cloth from my hands and made me take the cup from him. Without looking up at him, I muttered a thanks and took a sip of tepid water.

After a few minutes of silence, I felt calmer and managed to continue. This time, even when tears were streaming down my face, I didn't stop.

I told him about Paula stealing, about her getting a new job and leaving me alone for most nights. How she'd come home smelling of cigarettes and alcohol - and god knows what else - when I'd be getting ready for school. Then I told him about Ollie and how he'd helped her clean up her act, and how unlike all the other man she'd been with, he treated me with kindness, and planned things that the three of us could do. And then, I told Harry about Bianca and about how much I loved her. I described how wonderful it was to feel like I was a part of a family, and how devastated I'd been when Ollie left after finding out he wasn't Bianca's father.

Somehow, I then told him about Paula spiralling out of control, and how I'd had to take over as a parent to Bianca. Then, with a hand on my swirling, churning stomach, I told Harry about the morning I'd found my mother on the sofa having overdosed. I told him about the two days I'd sat there in frozen shock while my baby sister cried and cried until someone finally called the police.

I told Harry about how I'd refused to see Bianca after we were found, and that I told the social workers I didn't want us to be together. My baby sister was too young to remember the horrors we'd experienced, but it was too late for me. I was spoiled.

I didn't leave out a single detail. If he was going to know about my past, he was going to know it all.

Looking over to him, I saw Harry's face stony and unmoved, his jaw clenched and eyes emotionless. What looked like tears were pooling at the brim, but with no other indication that he was even remotely upset, I wasn’t sure the tears weren’t from him having not blinked the entire time I’d been talking. I knew in my stomach, this was not going to be a happy ending. Harry was disgusted and full of hatred for who I was, staring at me like he didn't even know who he was with anymore.

"Harry..." My voice cracked.

Without a word, he pushed back his chair, letting it loudly scrape against the floor, and got up and walked out of the kitchen. I waited for the sound of the front door to open and slam close but there was nothing but more dreadful silence.

Standing up on shaky legs, I slowly went to find where he had gone. I knew it was probably better to give him space, to process what I'd just unloaded on him, but I needed to know if he did hate me or think I was as disgusting as I felt.

Finding him in the living room, I walked in to see him sat on the sofa with his head in his hands, sobbing. I rushed to his side, and despite being scared that if I touched even a hair on his head he'd push me away, the overwhelming need to comfort him won out, and I tentatively put my hand on his shoulder. Harry lifted up his head and looked at me, his eyes were red, and his face was soaked with tears.

"I'm sorry," I said in a whisper.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Shaking his head, he enveloped me in his arms and held me tightly to him. "I can't believe you went through that, Lil."

I cried into his chest with relief, the weight of keeping that secret from him having been lifted. He stroked my damp hair and whispered that he loved me and could never hate me for having gone through what I had.

It suddenly hit me, as I wondered why I didn't feel as safe as I once had in his arms, that Harry was too young to be dealing with the level of baggage I possessed. I sat up and wiped away my tears, and I saw for the first time just how young and untainted by life he was. He was trying his hardest to be strong as I cried, but I could see that he was terrified and at a loss for how to handle what I'd confessed.

"You can walk away, y'know," I said, rushing to get my point across as he frowned and tried to disagree. "Listen, maybe the people around us are right to have doubts about us, you don't need this shit. I wouldn't blame you if you did, I would understand completely."

"Lil, no!" He protested firmly, shaking his head.

"Harry, let's be real, things were never meant to go this far between us. The day we met in that hotel room for the first time, neither of us expected it would lead to us falling in love-"

"So? Nobody expects they'll fall in love! Layla, I've already made my decision and I don't have any doubts about us anymore." Cupping my face, he forced me to look him in the eye,"Layla, do you love me?"

"Of course I do, but tha-"

"Do you want to be with me?" He interrupted. I nodded. "Then that's all I give a fuck about. Everything else, we will work out together, okay?”

“Okay.”

I wanted to argue and tell him the reasons why I wasn't worth fighting for, but I knew from the determination in his eyes that it would be pointless. Whether because of love, or because of sheer bloody mindedness, Harry had chosen to be with me. Albeit in private.

So, I just nodded and reached up to gently touch his nose. I'd intended to put something frozen on it, but with everything that had come out, I'd forgotten, and it was starting to swell. He winced pre-emptively as I touched him, relaxing when he realised I wasn't causing him any pain.

"Let's go back into the kitchen, and you can put some ice on this," I suggested. "I have most of dinner prepared too, if you're hungry."

Harry hesitated, and I felt stupid.

"That's if you're still staying, of course."

"Of course," he said, taking my hands in his and smiling softly, "I'm not going anywhere, baby."

Moving from the living room back to the kitchen, I dug out a bag of frozen peas and wrapped them in a towel so Harry could put them on his swollen nose. In the brighter light, I could see bruises starting to form under his eyes, but I thought it best not to mention them just yet.

"Are you hungry?" Opening the fridge, I looked at the food inside that had been meant for our romantic meal, and puffed out the air in my cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Lil, I've kind of lost my appetite," Harry grumbled as he adjusted the peas on his nose.

"Yeah. I know what you mean."


	20. A Different Corner

  
Our night was officially ruined. We both made a vague attempt at salvaging it by agreeing to a movie, but halfway through I suggested we just went to bed, and Harry agreed before I'd even finished.

He was quiet and withdrawn, the only indication I had that he wasn't completely repulsed by me was his constant need to touch me. I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I was too trapped inside my own anxiety to speak more than a few words, and I also wasn't ready to hear what he had to say about the real me.     

Upstairs, we got into bed, and he instantly curved himself against my back. He wrapped his arm over my waist and hugged me closely to his chest, making me feel safe and protected and loved.

"I love you," he whispered softly into my hair, "and everything will be alright."

Wanting nothing more than to believe him, I started to cry. To my relief, Harry did nothing but hold me tightly and tell me everything was okay until I eventually fell asleep.

I dreamt about Will. One of those frustrating dreams where no matter how hard you try, you throw the punch and it never fully lands. He was stood in the living room of the home we used to share and was smugly mocking me for my failed attempts at hurting him. My limbs felt heavy, my throws feeling as though I was trying to punch through treacle, and each time any contact was made, it was like my fists were wrapped in bubble-wrap. Mia and Terry were there too, watching with manic grins that added fuel to my desire to hurt Will, but also made the missed punches more shameful.

The frustration and shame grew until I became aware of it, and my eyes flew open, heart hammering against my chest.

For a second, I thought I was completely alone, until I felt Harry shift slightly and begin to snore. Normally, I would have nudged him lightly to quiet him, but I found comfort in his louder than normal snores (thanks to his swollen nose). They meant he had stayed instead of sneaking out and making a quick getaway whilst I slept.

For a long time, I just watched him sleep. The orange light from the lamppost outside my window wasn't something I'd tried to block out - having never quite grown out of being afraid of the dark - but I was even more grateful for it now. All the better for seeing Harry with. His lips were parted and his jaw was slack, and every so often his eyelashes would flutter against his cheeks, and he'd frown. Bathed in the soft glow of artificial light, he looked so beautiful it made my heart ache a little. I looked at him and I didn’t know what to do with the overwhelming amount of love I had for him.

But, still something didn’t feel right.

Since my argument with Rose, I'd had a constant feeling gnawing at me, a feeling that I'd made a mistake in forgiving Harry so easily - if at all. It wasn't even up for discussion that I loved him, and despite his actions, I believed he loved me too. But I just couldn’t get what Rose had said out of my head, it had been circling my mind every waking moment since she’d said it - my relationship with Harry was no longer good or healthy.

Laying back down and staring up at the ceiling, I tried to remember if there had been a day, since Rose came in angrily waving a newspaper, that I hadn't been in some state of anxiety over seeing him with someone else. But I came up blank.

As I searched through my thoughts, I realised I hadn't had anything but stress and anxiety since Harry had come into my life. He'd ignored my requests to not come to the house, to keep a respectful distance between us outside of our trysts in various hotel rooms. Then there had been what he did with Kendall, all because he didn't think I'd leave Will. I'd accepted his story when we'd met up to clear the air a few months before, but as I thought about it, and paired with what had happened with the actress, I felt angry again.

The darkness began to feel heavy on my chest, and my feet needed to pace the floor as my thoughts raced around. I also needed to be somewhere Harry wasn't.

Carefully getting out of bed, I paused as he stirred and rolled onto his side. I waited to see if he asked where I was going, but he just started to quietly snore again, peacefully oblivious to my inner turmoil. With the coast clear, I crept out of the bedroom and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

I expected to find that it was late, but looking at the annoyingly loud clock on the wall, I discovered it was only just past eleven and I’d only been asleep for a measly two hours. Everything was so still and silent that it seemed much later, and it felt like I was the only person in the world awake. I felt loneliness curling it's cold fingers around my soul and start to pull me down into despair, making me confront the things I'd been trying to ignore.

I poured myself a half glass of wine that had been chilling in the fridge, and sat down at the table. I knew drinking wasn't the wisest choice, but I needed something to help me cope with what was about to come.

I heard Rose saying loudly and forcefully in my head, "What’s simple, Layla, is that if you let him get away with this, he will continue to walk all over you. He’s going to cheat on you over and over until you’re back to being like you were with Will."

It pained me to admit that she was right. I was beginning to feel like I was dangerously close to repeating a pattern where I was the doormat in a relationship.

Harry had started off as my happy place, he'd made me feel happier and stronger than I'd felt in years. Even before he told me, he made me feel loved. I'd wanted that again, I had been willing to overlook what had happened with Kendall because I needed the strength he gave me. But instead, he took advantage of my vulnerability. Harry had known what I’d been through with Will and Terry, how much it had affected me, and still he went and slept with someone else.

I found it hard to accept that Harry - the one I thought I knew - would do any of the things he had done. They were the actions of the Mick Jagger wannabe I’d pegged him down for the first night we met. It broke my heart to finally realise that, after all this time, maybe I’d been right about him all along.

But I knew deep, deep down that wasn’t the case. The night he'd admitted to cheating, he had been distraught and opened up to me in a way that I hadn't seen him do before. He hadn't lied or protected me from how he really felt, he had his concerns and he voiced them (albeit a little too late, but better late than never, I suppose).

I'd thought about that night a lot, especially in the following days when I knew I'd have to explain my choice to Rose. I'd been convinced I was doing the right thing in forgiving him, so much so that I defended him to her, that I fell out with her. But my flimsy arguments were weak. I'd forgiven him because I was scared of losing what we had. Just like Baby in Dirty Dancing, I was scared that if I walked away from him, I’d never feel the way I felt with him ever again, and that nobody would want me like he did.

But what we’d had was long gone, and I didn't want the kind of love where I was once again playing second fiddle. It was dawning on me that it was about time I put my wants and needs first and find my backbone again. Even if it meant losing someone I thought to be the love of my life.

I had to end my relationship with Harry. For good.

The mere thought made me break out in a cold sweat, but apart from the sicky feeling in my stomach, there wasn't as much resistance as I expected. It was a complete contrast to how I'd felt when I used to occasionally daydream about ending my marriage. That had been a nice thought that got me through Will’s tantrums, I just never followed through with it because I didn’t think I'd ever have the strength to be on my own.

Strength.

I mulled the word over, like it had once been a close friend but we'd drifted apart. I'd thought I'd had strength during the previous ten months; getting a job, leaving Will, and buying my own house. But in reality, Will was having an affair with the person he really wanted to be with so I hadn't had much choice but to leave. And he'd paid for the house.

I needed more wine.

Getting up, I poured another glass but this time filled it to the brim. I’d take a hangover over the hollow feeling at the pit of my stomach, but there wasn’t enough wine in the world capable of easing that. Throwing half of the glass's contents down my throat, I topped it up again before going back to my seat.

I found myself wishing I smoked, just for something to do with my hands other than raise a glass to my lips or tap my finger nervously against the table. My heart and mind raced, making me fidgety and restless. It felt like I'd uncorked something, and thoughts and feelings were gushing out too fast for me to catch them properly. The idea was growing fuller and fuller in my mind, taking a solid form until I had to grip onto the table for some stability.

Harry was no longer good for me, and I had to end things before it was too late, before I got my heart well and truly broken. Worse than it already was.

Suddenly, I felt like I was sat at the table with myself, mentally talking to myself like I was talking to a friend who’d once again found themselves in a bad relationship. I was seeing Layla as a the little girl who’d wanted her mother to love her more than she loved getting high. I saw her as the fucked-up teen who ran away to another country. I saw her as the young woman who fell in love with a man who she thought would save her and make everything better. I saw Layla, sat at the kitchen table, wondering if she was always going to jump from one shitty situation to another. I wanted to protect all those different versions of myself, I wanted to make a better decision for the future version, and most of all I wanted to be able to look back on this moment as one where I made changes for the better.

'Layla,’ I told myself, not too dissimilar to how Rose had spoken to me when we’d fought, ‘It’s about time you faced the cold, hard facts. Will cheated on you, and Harry cheated on you too. You let both of them do this to you, and you let them both get away with it. Anyone else would have taken Will to the cleaners for what he put you through, and anybody with half a brain would have sent Harry packing.’

Layla took a large mouthful of wine, gulping it down to ease the shameful ache in her chest, and the burning embarrassment in her stomach.

Then suddenly, I was back in my body, crash landing into it, and feeling everything I’d been watching. I felt ashamed for being so pliant and forgiving with those who didn't deserve it.

I’d gone to that awful afternoon tea with Will so he could tell Verity we were divorcing, and I’d sat there while she called me a whore. At the time, I saw my silence as being dignified. I wouldn’t have to put up with her abuse for much longer so why give her the satisfaction of rising to the bait? But actually, I was just as much of a coward as Will had been that day, letting her think she could speak to us in the way she did.

And Harry. Harry I’d forgiven far too soon. I’d wanted so desperately to believe that he was genuinely sorry for what he had done that he could have probably said anything and I would have accepted it. I’d slept with him that night, and I told him that I loved him. I lay my heart out for him, and instead of treating it as the fragile and cracked thing it was, he took it and tossed it away while he fucked someone else. He’d spent that whole week trying to get me to talk to him, calling me incessantly, all whilst still going to dinner and getting fucking frozen yoghurt with her! Then I went and forgave that too.

‘Lil,’ I whispered to myself, softly, ‘you have to end your relationship with Harry.’


	21. Landslide

I couldn't go back to bed and lie next to Harry like everything was okay, so I busied myself with cleaning up the kitchen. It was a mess. I'd spent the morning prepping for a dinner, which didn't even happen. Everything was ready to be cooked, and I'd even (poorly) baked a cake, but now all of it just sat and taunted me. On the table, amongst the napkins, candles, glasses, and a vase of pink roses, remained a bowl of water and some swollen blobs of cotton wool still tinged red with Harry's blood.

Clearing it all away, I looked around and hoped that maybe I'd find something that would make me change my mind, but nothing leapt out at me, giving me a magic solution that meant I could be with Harry forever. I still felt hollow, and I still felt a deep ache in my soul over Harry having betrayed me. Once upon a time, he had showed me a love I'd never experienced before - deep and honest and pure - but I hadn't felt that since the last time he walked out of my old house. Harry had always been my safe space, the sunshine in my life, but he had become a constant source of worry for me. Ever since the day I saw the picture of him at dinner with Kendall, I was always waiting for the next thing he was going to do to break my heart.

Out in the hallway, I heard the sound of my stairs creaking noisily. The second from bottom step would always protest loudly when stood on, and hearing it now signalled that Harry had woken up. My heart started to race harder than it already was, making me almost pass out with nerves.

"Hey," he said sleepily, his eyes squinting against the brightness of the kitchen light as he walked in. "What are you doing up?"

"I...I couldn't sleep. Did I wake you?"

Shaking his head and yawning, he came over to the table and kissed my forehead before sitting down in the chair I'd cleaned him up in only hours before. I focused on the floral pattern of my tablecloth, unable to look him in the eye. He'd calmed down and was back to being the Harry I loved, but seeing him, or feeling his lips against my skin, hadn't changed my mind. Knowing what was coming, it was too hard to pretend.

Finally, lifting up my head to look at him huddled in his hoodie and jogging bottoms, there was no denying I loved him with all of my heart. I got butterflies when I saw him, he made my heart skip a beat, and it always felt like we were the only ones in the room no matter how busy it was. Yet despite that, despite all the clichés of love, his defending my honour earlier against Will, and his insistence that we could face anything together, I still wanted him to leave.

"Remember I told you about me going to work in Ibiza when I was seventeen?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Harry nodded, shifting closer to the table and leaning his elbow on it. The bruises around his nose and under his eyes had made their full appearance as he'd slept, and I felt a pang of guilt that had it not been for me, he wouldn't have them.

"I ended up there because I ran away from the foster family I was living with. I stole money from them to pay for my flight and I... I just left. They were lovely to me, really sweet and kind and understanding. Especially Mary. She always reminded me of my grandmother, and would sit with me when I woke up screaming in the night, and tell me stories to distract me from the nightmare." Wryly, I laughed and shrugged. "She was the kind of mother I'd always wanted, but by that point it was too late. I just wanted to get out of Liverpool. So, when I was close to being eighteen, I left a note and was gone."

"Baby, you're shaking, are you cold?"

I was cold, freezing in fact, but needing to feel numb in every possible way, I ignored his question and continued on. "I paid the money back, of course. When I did turn eighteen and was legally an adult, I sent them a cheque and a letter telling them I was sorry and thanking them for all they'd done for me. But I never saw or heard from them again."

"You shouldn't feel bad about what you did, Lil," Harry said, gently. "You'd been through so much."

For the first time since he'd come downstairs, I looked him in the eye. I already ached and missed him, but I had to remember that it wasn't a question of the level of my love for him, it was about our futures. If we stayed together as the people we were, we would only end up hating each other and ruining each other's lives. I didn't want that for myself, and I didn't want that for Harry. We were both deserving of happiness, and I deserved not to be second best to whoever took his fancy next.

"I went to Ibiza to escape and to find a better future for myself. When I met Will, I thought he was the answer to all of my prayers, Harry. I thought he was going to save me and stop me from ever being alone and scared again. But I was wrong, and maybe... maybe I was wrong about you, too."

Harry blinked in surprise, unsure how he could ever be comparable with my ex-husband.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean that you're not the answer to my prayers either, and that I forgave you when you didn't deserve it."

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. I could see panic rising in him as he searched for something to say, something that would diffuse a situation he thought was already settled.

Finally, he reached out to touch my knee, "It's late, let's go to bed and we can work all of this out in the morning."

"No, Harry, I think you should leave."

Harry frowned at me, confused, and I almost laughed it off as a joke until I saw what I had said had registered and the hurt filled his eyes. I never, ever wanted to hurt him, and that was the difference between him and I - I didn't want to hurt him, but he had hurt me with very little difficulty.

"Baby, I don't want-" he started, but stopped when I held up my hand to silence him.

"I don't care what you want," I found myself saying, voice cold and indifferent. The words were coming out independent of my thoughts, detached from my heartbreak. "I didn't want you to take me for a fool, but you did. I didn't want you to make me love you then go flaunt two relationships in my face. You ruined this, Harry, not me."

Harry flinched, and for a second I almost regretted how harsh my words were, but they were the truth so I refused to take them back. Like Verity, I imagined not too many people dealt Harry cold hard facts when he'd been in the wrong.

Head down, hair falling forward and covering most of his face, he was silent for a moment. When he looked up again, there were tears in his eyes and he was trying desperately not to break down completely. I guessed the only thing stopping him was a part of him that believed he could calm me down.

"You're upset about Will." He sniffed, wiping a rogue teardrop as it spilled down his bruised cheek. "I promise everything will be better after a few hours sleep. We can talk-"

"There's nothing to talk about. Thank you for sticking up to Will for me but, I'm sorry, I've made up my mind. Whatever this was? It's... it's over."

I stood up as he reached out to to touch me, needing to keep a distance between us. Once again I saw the hurt on his face, and this time I also saw the realisation that I was being deadly serious. A lump formed in my throat, and I felt my bottom lip wobble as tears sprang to my eyes. Swallowing the lump, I took a deep breath and kept my expression cold and unforgiving, refusing to let him see any chinks in my armour.

I didn't want to talk about it, I wanted him gone. The petty part of me wanted him to know how it had felt when he'd cut me out without a word. But mostly, I wanted him to leave so I didn't have to see him in pain.

"So," I continued, sounding much stronger than I felt, "I'd like you to get your things and go."

"I-I don't understand where this is all coming from?" Harry's voice cracked as he spoke, panic and confusion colouring his face. "I thought we'd moved on, I thought we were getting through this? I am so sorry for hurting you, Lil, I promise with everything I have that it will never happen again. Please, baby, I'm begging you, don't do this."

"Well, obviously, I haven't moved on from you fucking someone else and being perfectly happy to be seen with her but not me!"

Hearing my raised voice, he got up from his seat and tried to pull me to him. At first, I pushed him away with disgust, having gone from needing him wholly to feeling almost allergic to his touch, but when he tried again with a tighter grip on my arms, I let him.

"Layla, please." Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he looked broken. "Just tell me what to do, what I can do to make this right. I'll do anything, Lil, anything."

I turned my head away from his tears, willing myself not to let go of my composure. He wanted an explanation, an answer, to know why I was having a change of heart so suddenly. But really, all he needed to know was that he'd broken it. Harry had taken my love and my trust and he'd trampled all over them, just like everyone else had, other than Rose. It was too late for quick fixes, too late for us to make the right decision. Our relationship was doomed from the start, and we both should have left it in the past, where the memories weren't so tainted by our fuck-ups.

"I love you," he whispered, moving his hands to my face and making me look at him. He looked beautiful, eyes puffy with tears, lips swollen and red, and his cheeks burned. I had never loved him more. I was desperate to comfort him and tell him that it really was for the best, that he'd thank me eventually for making this decision. "I'm sorry"

My hard exterior slipped and my chest ached. For a moment, my resolve collapsed. I put my hand on my heart to feel if it was still beating, and wept. "You ruined it, Harry. You fucking ruined it!"

Harry pressed his forehead against mine as we both cried, and then he kissed me. A kiss that tried to convince me not to let him go as he held my head tightly in his hands, fearful of me pushing him away. He felt familiar and safe, and I wanted to tell him I was wrong, that I took it all back, that I was being rash and foolish because of the day's events, and that there was a way we could put everything back together like there had never been anything wrong. But the words refused to come out, and as much as I wanted to say them. I knew that they would be a lie.

Putting my hand on his chest, I pulled from his grip and stepped away from him. I wiped my eyes and regained my composure. "Harry, please don't make this harder than it already is. Please, just get your things and go."

"Layla..." he started, excuses and imploring reasoning dying in his mouth as he finally realised they were all pointless.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't you understand? Saying sorry is not going to make this better."

We looked at each other, and for a moment our shared grief was palpable. Him and I were the only two people who would ever know what ending our relationship felt like, but we'd never be able to help each other through it. We'd go to our friends, or he'd go to his family, and they'd all be somewhat sympathetic, but deep down they'd all be glad. There'd be an 'I told you so' behind every word of support and comfort. They had won, and we had lost.

Harry covered his face with the crook of his arm and sobbed into it. That's when it hit me, the reality of what I was doing. Somehow, I knew that this was the end, that if we ever saw each other again it wouldn't be for a very long time.

When he stopped, he took a deep, shaky breath and looked at me. I took one last look at him, at the face I loved so much, at the person I loved so much, and walked out of the kitchen. I prayed that he didn't follow me into the living room and try again to reason with me, or beg for forgiveness. I closed the door behind me and leant against it as I waited for whatever would happen next.

After what felt like forever, I heard the creak on the stairs as he went up to my bedroom, and a couple of minutes later I heard it again as he came back down. He paused outside the living room door, the handle shifting slightly as he put his hand on it, probably debating what to do. I held my breath, but to my relief he didn't try to push it open.

It wasn't until I heard the front door slam for the second time that night that the full flood of heartache rushed through me. The pain was overwhelming, and I had never felt such extreme levels of agony and grief. It wasn't just the loss of Harry, it was an all encompassing feeling of loss for everyone I had ever loved. From my mother and sister, to Will, Terry, and even Mia. Even Rose. I felt like I was completely cursed to somehow fuck up or lose every relationship I ever had, and that I was unlovable.

I started to drink and didn't really stop until Terry showed up the following afternoon.


	22. Meet Me In The Hallway

  **2015**

** Harry **

Regret. That had become the first thing I felt when I woke up. For the first few days, it had taken a few seconds before reality would kick in. I'd think everything was okay, and that Layla didn't hate me, but that hadn't lasted for very long. Quickly, self-loathing was there before I'd even fully woken up. I'd keep my eyes closed tight and hope that I could fall back to sleep before my brain started its daily routine of telling me what a fucking idiot I was. From the moment I was no longer deep in sleep, I regretted everything.

The second thing I usually felt was a toss-up between a headache or the need to vomit, and this morning, after a particularly heavy night, it was both.

Careful not to wake the sleeping body next to me, I got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. I managed to lock the door before having to launch myself at the toilet and spewing the contents of my stomach into it. With my hands on either side of the seat, steadying me as my upper-body lurched and convulsed with every stomach contraction, I threw everything up until there was nothing but bile. My head throbbed twice as hard as it had done before, feeling as though I was being repeatedly kicked in the temple, and as I collapsed into a sitting position on the cool, tiled floor, I thought that having my innards try to escape my body through my mouth was still preferable to the ache of missing Layla.

I sat in a daze, staring at the marble pattern on the tiles, and building up the energy to get up and take something to ease the pounding pain in my head. I hoped the noise I'd probably made hadn't woken up the girl in my bed, the same girl I'd told Layla I would never see again, if she didn't want me to. I hadn't intended to have sex with her, she was just one of the few people who knew about Layla, and one of the only ones who was sympathetic and understanding. I'd left London after finally accepting that I couldn't stay there, and I wanted comfort from someone who didn't think Layla was a terrible person, someone who'd even encouraged me to try and make things right, even though I'd lied to her too. I needed a shoulder to cry on, and we ended up in bed together.

Cringing, I realised that her possibly hearing me being sick was the least of my problems, and it made me clamber to my feet. Shuffling over to the sink, I glanced at the dishevelled reflection in the medicine cabinet and groaned with disgust. Somehow, I managed to look worse than I felt. I yanked the cabinet door open and took out some painkillers - wincing at the sound of the plastic as it crinkled in my fingers noisily - and popped out two pills. Then, cramming them into my mouth, I drank from the cold water tap to help swallow them down, whilst also ridding myself of the horrible taste of vomit in my mouth.

I considered just climbing back into bed, pulling the covers over my head and just sleeping my hangover away. But, remembering that I wouldn't be alone if I left the bathroom, I decided to shower, and hoped that the water washed away the previous night's mistakes, and all my other ones along with it.

It had been well over a month since Layla kicked me out of her house, and despite all the ways I'd tried to distract myself, still nothing had eased the pain. I felt shattered and broken, my stomach was pained with an emptiness that I couldn't fill, and I couldn't focus on anything. For the first time in my life, I truly understood the meaning of heartache because I felt it all of the time.

I got straight out of London. I left Layla's house and drove straight up to Holmes-Chapel, to my mum's. I needed the comfort of her and Robin, and I wanted to lick my wounds in a place that was familiar and safe.

Mum was surprisingly supportive - not that I expected her to really show how happy she felt that my relationship with Lil was over - but I knew that deep down she was pleased and relieved. It had worried her- the age difference, the messy divorce- and both her and Gemma hadn't met Layla in particularly great situations. Hindsight told me that I'd let my excitement for them to meet her get the better of me, and it made them dislike our relationship even more.

"Are you sure it's over?" Mum asked as we sat together on the sofa and I told her everything.  "You thought it was finished before and you still ended up back together."

"I don't know." I shook my head and looked down at the sleeping cat on my knee, who was stretched out comfortably, without a single care in the world. I envied her. "I think it's for real this time, I don't think there's anything I can do to fix what I did."

"Then you have to accept her decision and try to move on, love. Sometimes, even though we want it so badly, some things just aren't meant to be. You and Layla just aren't right for each other, and one day, when you've found someone who is right for you, you will see that." Mum put an arm around my shoulder and kissed my temple tenderly. "If you can't fix it, then leave her alone."

But, despite knowing I should follow her advice, I couldn't stop trying to fight Layla's decision. I'd call and text constantly, begging to be heard and to be given an opportunity to make things better, but I never got anything back. All I got in return was a taste of my own medicine when she was forced to block any way I had of contacting her. But, when I travelled back to London with hopes of drowning my sorrows with friends over the new year, I took to showing up on her doorstep late at night instead of taking the rather obvious hint that she didn't want anything to do with me.

Usually drunk, I'd kneel down in front of her door and plead through the letterbox to a wall of dark silence. Layla, of course, never responded. She never told me to leave or threaten to call the police, she just sat at the top of the stairs -cold and unmoving- and listened to my drunken pleas for her to reconsider until I gave up and went home. I couldn't ever really see her, save from the odd shadowy figure creeping across the hallway, but with that, and all the lights being turned off suddenly, I knew she was listening. And it only frustrated me more. I'd want to bang my fists on the door, to stand in the middle of the street and shout and cause a scene. I wanted to do whatever it took until she let me in. But, even in inebriation, I was aware that it would only make everything worse for both of us. I felt incapable of leaving her alone but I wanted to at least spare her the embarrassment of the police being called, or worse, the press.  

Eventually, I would leave. I'd call for a car and I'd head home, or to a friend's house, where I would pass out. Then, the next morning, I'd wake up and feel a wave of shame crash over me, the morning's harsh light seeming to make the regret that much more worse as I laid in bed, or on a sofa, and recalled what a mess I kept making of things. I'd tell myself I was an idiot, and I'd vow never to do it again, that this would be the last time. But it never was. Whether it was a day or two later, I'd end up back in front of Lil's door.

The night that resulted in me running to LA had started well. I agreed to go out with Nick, and a few other people I knew through him, to belatedly celebrate New Year. He seemed to be aware that I was upset about something (thanks to my mum, no doubt) and he tried to subtly ask what was going on. But, sensing my reluctance to open up about it, he didn't push any further and just did his best to distract and cheer me up.

At first, it worked. For the first time in weeks, I found myself genuinely laughing, actually having fun instead of just pretending for the benefit of those around me, and noticing the knot in the pit of my stomach a little less. But the later it got, and the drunker everyone around me became, the more my mood started to drop. I found myself looking around at my friends and wishing I was somewhere else - like the age old cliche - because for all the people in the room, I felt utterly alone.

So, I left. I made my excuses, jumped in a cab and gave the driver Layla's address.

Having passed out almost as soon as the car started moving, I woke up when I realised it had come to a stop outside of Layla's house. Blearily handing money over, I stumbled out onto the pavement and waited for the taxi to drive off.

There wasn't anyone around, the street was quiet, and most of the other houses were in complete darkness apart from the occasional blue glow of a TV flickering in a dimly lit room. Curtains closed, I could see Layla's bedroom light was on. I grabbed at my stomach as it lurched. It was both comforting to know she was close and agonising knowing that it was highly unlikely she'd acknowledge me. Ignoring the voice in my head telling me I should just go home, I opened the black, metal gate, walked up the tiled path, and rang the doorbell, starting the whole charade once again.

Ringing the bell a few more times, I peered through the mottled glass and was surprised to see a perfectly clear outline of Layla standing at the top of the stairs. She hadn't turned all the lights off, and wasn't pretending that she wasn't there but, to my dismay, she wasn't moving either. Crouching down, I opened the letterbox to try see her better, but all I saw was her sitting down in the usual spot.

Encouraged by her not hiding away, I asked, "Lil, please open the door."

Silence.

"I don't want to fight, I just want to talk."

Silence.

"I hate doing this, but baby," I paused, emotion taking over and my voice cracking, "Baby, I miss you."

Silence.

Her silhouette made the silence worse, confronting me with the truth that all the times I'd sat crying and begging for audience, she had been able to listen to me, unmoved. I'd always known she was there, but now there was no denying that Layla had heard me and had been able to resist coming to comfort me.

Resting my head against the red painted door, I started to cry. The frustration of being ignored was overwhelming. I didn't know what else I could say or do to get her to listen to me. I knew I'd fucked up, and it had haunted me since I saw the look of pain in Layla's eyes when I'd admitted I'd cheated on her. But I never expected to feel like she hated me, as though I meant nothing, as though we meant nothing. I took a deep breath and tried again, once again ignoring everything in me that told me to just to leave her alone.

"Layla, Lil, please, can we just talk? I promise, I will leave you alone, but I just want to speak to you."

Again - nothing but an agonising wall of silence.

I watched her silhouette slowly get up, and for a split second I hoped she was about to finally relent, but when the lights went out and everything turned dark again, she shut me out once more.

My heart broke with a fresh, painful wound. I slumped down heavily onto my backside and leant against the brick wall. I knew I should give up, that I should just get up and go home to save more pain and embarrassment. Layla wasn't going to let me in, that was clearer to me now more than ever, but I couldn't move. Frustration was now overruled by defeat, and though I'd gone through the same feeling several times before in the very same spot, it was finally setting in that even if I turned up on her doorstep every night - she was never, ever going to let me in.

With my head in the crook of my elbow, I sobbed. I sat in the covered doorway - the rough 'Welcome' mat under my palm steadying me from curling up in a ball - and I cried. Wishing for an answer, wishing for sobriety, wishing Layla would feel my pain and find a way to forgive me. I wondered if she was hurting the same way as me. At one point, I would have said yes, but I couldn't imagine being able to ignore her if I ever saw her going through the amount of aching need I felt. She had held back from telling me how she felt about me, and as I sat outside the locked door of her home, I began to convince myself that maybe she had never really loved me like I did her.

  

** Terry **

It was already late when Layla's call came through. I'd had a quiet Friday night at home with Will, and he was fast asleep with his head on my lap, snoring away happily as I ran my fingers through his sandy blonde hair. Staying home, cooking together, and being domestic was still a luxury - something we hadn't yet grown to take advantage of - so even just the sight of his sleeping face made my heart skip a beat in a way that still took me by surprise.

He stirred as my phone rang, forehead scrunching together as he looked up at me. Initially, I was going to ignore the call, annoyed I had forgotten to switch it off for the night, but seeing Layla's name, I remembered why I hadn't.

"Lil? You okay?"

Will was fully awake then, his head popping up with confusion and concern on his face at the sound of his wife's name. I wished Layla could see him, see the amount of guilt and remorse he felt over what he had done to her. I'd seen him battle with it during the majority of our relationship but never to the extent he had since he'd punched Harry, effectively ruining Layla's already fragile relationship with the guy. Will had been the catalyst to the enormous breakdown she was experiencing, and I wished she could see that he was desperate to do anything to fix what he'd broken.

On the other end of the phone, Layla was frantic. She wasn't crying but she was close, and I could hear the panic and fear in her voice as she struggled once more with how to handle the man she loved being so open and unrelenting with his refusal to accept that they were over.

"It's Harry," she said, "he's here again, and I don't know what to do. I'm sorry to call you so late-"

"Layla, it's fine, I told you to call me if he turned up again." Will moved so I could get to my feet. I stroked his warm cheek before going out into the hallway. I hated seeing him so worried, and I hated hearing her so broken. "I'll come over now and take him home. Is he drunk?"

"Yes... yes, I think so. Oh god, Ted, he sounds so... I don't know. I'm so awful, Terry, I'm so selfish and horrible. I deserve all of this, but he doesn't."

She began to cry, a sound I had become heartbreakingly familiar with, and I stopped my rushing to get ready so I could comfort her. Using the same Welsh term of endearment my mother used to use for me when I was upset as a child, the word for love, I said softly, "Cariad, you're none of those things, and you certainly don't deserve any of this. You're not a bad person for wanting better than what Harry was giving, I've told you this before."

"What if I've got it wrong? What if I've made a mistake?"

"Do you think you've made a mistake? Deep down, would you be happier going back to how things were? If you change your mind, I'm not going to tell you you're right or wrong, I am just asking you what would make you happier in the long run, and not just as a quick fix."

Layla paused, her sobs becoming quiet sniffs and hiccups. We'd talked at great length over what she wanted, and why that hadn't involved Harry being in her life anymore. I wanted to remind her of those things, and why what she was feeling was because of hearing Harry's grief.

Finally, and as I'd expected, she mumbled, "No, I haven't made a mistake."

"All right, I will be over as soon as I can. Sit tight, and don't answer the door until I get there. Okay?"

"Okay, thank you."

"Lil."

"Hmm?"

"I promise that this will all get better. I'll speak to Harry."

She was crying again as we both hung up, and I sighed heavily at Will who was hovering nearby in the doorway of the living room, looking concerned.

"Is she okay?" He asked.

I shook my head and sat down on the hallway chair to put on my shoes. Coming to stand in front of me, Will put a soothing hand on my head, a gesture that thanked me for looking after a woman we had both wronged.

"I have no idea what state Harry's going to be in, so I don't know when I'll be back. Please don't wait up, love."

"I know what you're going to say, but would you like me to come? Even if it's just..."

Will's thoughts tailed off as he remembered what we both knew. He would be no use to anyone there and only ran the risk of exasperating things. I knew he wanted to help, but Layla was still refusing to having anything to do with him, and I dreaded to think what Harry would do if he saw him.

I stood up and cupped his head in my hands before kissing his forehead.

"I'll be fine, I'll take Harry home and then I'll be back. Maybe you could text Rose for me? Ask her to check on Lil if she can?"

"Yes, of course. I love you," Will said, stepping back and grabbing my coat from the rack and helping me into it.

"I love you, too."

I kissed him goodbye and left.

 

When I'd gone to check on Layla, the morning after Will had punched Harry, Will had been confused why I still cared about her enough to go and apologise on his behalf. He'd told me that I no longer had to pretend to love or care about her, that she was his mess to fix. But I'd made it clear that I loved Layla almost as much as I did Mia, that I had never lied when I said I thought of her as a daughter in every sense but blood and name. I went to check on her because I was ashamed of Will's behaviour, and something had told me that I should go and make sure she was okay.

I found Layla in a state of drunken hysteria that day she (eventually) opened the door to me, with a glass of vodka in hand, and she didn't slam the door in my face like she probably would have done on any other occasions. Instead, she just started to sob and leant against the wall, sliding down it until she was flat on her backside, adding a healthy mix of tears to her drink. I had never seen her so broken and unrestrained in her emotions. Even when she'd found Will and I together, she had remained strong, refusing to let the bump in the road get to her, but there had been too many bumps, and Layla had finally reached her limit and blown.

Helping her up from the floor, I'd taken her into the kitchen and sat her down so I could try to sober her up a little. I made her a strong tea, and when she had drunk half the mug and seemed to have calmed down a little, I finally asked, "What happened, cariad? Where's Harry?"

"He's gone," she shrugged. "We're over."

"Because of Will?"

Shrugging again, she then shook her head and looked at me with swollen, red eyes, "No, well, he didn't help. Or maybe he did, but I'm loath to give him credit."

She started to cry again, but managed to pull back enough so she could continue to explain that she had kicked Harry out. She then told me all about her childhood, about her mother and sister. I had known that she had come from a difficult past, Will had told me, and then so did she when we grew closer. Verity had wanted to hire a personal investigator when the engagement was announced and she realised that Layla was going to be a part of the the family, but Will and his father convinced her not to. She eventually found out some of the details, but none of us knew to what extent Layla had been neglected, or how she had been found when her mother died.

I sat and listened while Layla spoke, her heart seemingly breaking more and more with every word, and I understood why she had finally fallen to pieces. She had been carrying a heavy load for so many years. With how Will and I had betrayed her, Harry's recent scandal, her argument with Rose, and Will punching Harry on top of all of that, it was no wonder she was in such a mess.

It became my priority then to look after her, to be the parent I'd always claimed to be for her but had screwed up so colossally. I put her to bed with a sick bucket and a glass of water, and then I called Will to say I wasn't going to be at work, that he'd have to take my meetings and handle my calls. I hadn't given him an answer when he asked what was wrong. I was so angry with him that I wanted to save it for when I saw him in person. Of all the things that came close to finishing us off, his behaviour to Layla that day, and the things it had resulted in, were at the top of the list. I never saw Will as perfect, I saw his faults clearly, I'd always loved him despite them, but I came close to hating him for what he had done to her. I most certainly didn't like him.

I sat with Layla all night while she slept, scared that she'd consumed so much alcohol that something terrible would happen to her. When she woke, I held her hair and stroked her back as she was sick into the blue plastic bucket, her hangover temporarily outweighing the pain she was going through. I then made her some toast, and we talked some more until she needed to sleep again. It was unspoken, but we left our fall out in the past for the moment. I had needed to look after her, and she deeply needed love and affection, so everything else fell by the wayside.

 

There was no sign of Harry when I arrived at Layla's house. Her bedroom light was on and, other than the sound of my engine running, the whole street was silent and still, so I assumed he had already given up and gone home. Wanting to make sure she was okay before I went home, I got out of the car and crossed the road to her house. It wasn't until I reached the gate, and went to push it open, that I saw Harry slumped by the door, crying into the crook of his elbow and looking a little worse for wear.

He looked up when heard the squeaking of the gate opening, and though he had the decency to look somewhat ashamed, he didn't make any effort to move.

"Did she call you?" He demanded. "Does she hate me that much that she had to call the man her husband was sleeping with to get rid of me?"

"Yes, she called me, she's worried about you."

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. I could smell the alcohol on him as I got closer, and I knew it was what was making him belligerent.

"Don't you think it's time you went home? Lil isn't going to open the door."

Sighing heavily, my shoulders dropped when he folded his arms across his chest like a stubborn toddler and refused to move. I pulled out a pack of cigarettes from my jeans pocket, and sat down on the step with my back to him.

"You don't smoke, do you?" I asked, realising I should offer him one. He shook his head, and I smiled before lighting the one I'd taken out for myself. "Good lad. I keep telling Will I'm going to give up, but it's really fucking hard when you've been smoking as long as I have."

Blowing out a puff of smoke into the night, I spoke again with a much heavier tone, one that was considerably less conversational,"You know you have to leave her alone, don't you, Harry?"

"But-"

I turned to look at him, and he clamped his mouth shut, knowing that arguing with me wasn't going to work.

"I'm being serious. This is becoming too much for her to deal with, and I've known that girl long enough to know that the more you push, the less likely she is to talk to you."

He ran his fingers through his hair and wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. Sniffing, he decided to change tactic and tried to reason with me. "Can't you get her to open the door? I don't want to keep doing this but I-I don't know what else to do." Voice faltering, a fresh wave of tears slid down his cheeks. "I love her, Terry."

"I know, and she knows too. But it's over, and you have to accept that." I took one final drag before stubbing the embers out on the wall. "Harry, Layla is hurting. She's really, really hurting, and not just from what you did, but from finally dealing with how she grew up, from what Will and I did, and facing the unknown of her new life alone. I know you want to speak to her, that you're hurting too, but if you really do love her, you need to back off and accept that this is what she wants. I know it doesn't feel like it, but she wants the best for you, too."

Harry turned his head to look up at Layla's door, and I hoped my words were managing to work their way through the drink and starting to get through to him that enough was enough.  

"Do you think she'll ever forgive me?" He finally muttered, stroking a silver-ringed finger over a solidified drip of red paint on the door Layla had painted. "You know her so well, do you think she'll hate me forever?"

With an involuntary groan, I got to my feet and looked up at the house. Layla was at the window, but I gave no indication that I could see her in case it riled Harry up again. She mouthed an emphatic thank you, then disappeared from view, no doubt to wait anxiously for us to leave.

I didn't know what answer to give Harry, I didn't want to give him any false hope that meant he would continue showing up on her doorstep, but I also didn't want to kick him while he was down. Everything was so delicate, and I felt for both of them, but Layla was my priority, and I had to be honest enough with Harry that he would stop harassing her.

"Harry," I eventually said, my gaze dropping from Layla's to meet his, "Layla doesn't hate you, she just hates what you did. As for forgiving you? It's a cliché, I know, but she needs to forgive herself first. You're just one complication that she really doesn't need right now."

"For her sister? Forgive herself, I mean." Harry asked as though finally realising for the first time that he was just one part in the puzzle of Layla's life. Her sister was the missing piece, and she blamed herself for it being lost. She'd tried filling the hole with Harry's love, but she was coming to terms with the fact that he was just a distraction, no matter how much she loved him. "Will you tell her that I'm sorry, that I'll never regret anything more than hurting her?"

Nodding, I extended my hand to help him up from the floor, and he reluctantly accepted it. He dusted himself off before pressing his palm to the door one last time, probably soaking up the last time he'd ever be in front of her home. Sadly, he looked at me, eyes brimming with more tears, and I found myself wishing there could be a way for them to make things work. I recognised that the love he had for her was the same as Will had for me - he obviously felt it deeply but the timing was wrong and everyone had told him he was wrong. I could only hope that Harry and Layla could one day find an equal kind of love with someone else, or find their chance together at another time, like Will and I had.

"Tell her I'll leave her alone," Harry said, turning away from the door. "If it's what she wants, I won't bother her anymore."

  

** Harry **

As Terry led me to his car to drive me home, I turned to give one last look at Layla's house. She was stood in the upstairs window, arms folded across her chest with a hand over her mouth. I couldn't really see clearly enough, but it looked to me like she was crying. Everything in me wanted to start shouting and begging for her to come down and talk to me, but I stopped myself. Instead, I turned away and got into the car, accepting that it was finally time to leave her alone.

I missed her, I missed seeing her name appearing on the screen of my phone when she'd call or send me something silly that had amused her. I missed her voice, the sound of her laughter, her sense of humour, and I missed the way she tasted on my tongue. I knew Terry was right. I had to stop what I was doing, it wasn't helping me, and it wasn't helping her. Layla had no interest in what I had to say to her, and all I was doing was making her hate me more than she probably already did.

I was determined that I would respect Layla's wishes and leave her alone. I'd give her the space she needed, but I knew that she was always going to be on my mind. I'd fucked it up, I'd ruined what we had, and I was going to spend a long time hating myself for it. Driving away from her home, I knew full well I'd never be able to escape my love for Layla - the woman who changed me.


	23. The Hardest Part

** 2016 **

 

** Harry **

I liked LA, LA was safe. No reminders of her, no chances of bumping into her and no risk of seeing anyone she knew. The letters might be in her name, twice, but LA. was a Layla free zone.

For the past year, I'd been playing out of sight, out of mind. I'd had plenty to keep my self occupied: issues with Zayn, until he finally left, dealing with that fall out, touring, recording, and promotion. There hadn't been too much of a gap where I could wallow in what had happened, and I was thankful for that (even if it left me completely exhausted).

But now we were on an unlimited break, and we needed it. Five years was a long time to be performing nonstop, and I missed the constant distraction. Jeff, to his credit, was making me focus on the future. I was already setting plans in motion for a solo album, and I'd even auditioned to be in a movie, to really take a step out of my comfort zone. It worked up to a point, but there were always moments where the smallest thing would make me think of her. I'd be going over my lines for an audition, or I'd be trying to write a song, and she'd pop into my head. It would take so long to regain control of my thoughts, scolding myself for letting them wander, before I was wrangling them back into their box. She was the first person I wanted to tell things to when something good or bad happened. I'd wanted nothing more than to speak to her when Zayn had left the band. Losing him reminded me of losing her, and all I wanted was to hear her tell me that everything was going to be fine.

I'd made plans to return to England, to prepare for filming, and even though it was back home and not London, just being that close made the temptation to go see Layla too big. Maybe - I hoped - being in the place where I grew up, with my mum and Robin, with old school friends, and with the nervous excitement of attempting something I had never done before on my mind, it would help me forget her. Even if only for a little while.

Today was a good day though; I was going to meet Jeff and Glenne, have lunch and hang out, try and remember that I was technically on holiday so I didn't have to be on the go constantly. The glorious California sunshine made it easy to get out of bed and face the day, and being with two of my best friends made it even easier.

Parking the car outside the restaurant in which I was meeting them, I noticed a few paparazzi in the rearview mirror and sighed - they'd probably followed me from home, or someone from the restaurant had guessed that if Jeff was going to be there, then so would I. Some days it felt like I wasn't on a break at all. If it wasn't the paps shoving their lenses in my face and asking about girlfriends, it was fans constantly asking for photos while I was just out trying to buy a smoothie.

Grabbing my phone from its holster on the dashboard, I opened the car door and stepped out to be met with a chorus of clicks and questions. I scowled at the cameras then looked down to see a series of messages from Gem.

 **Gemma**  
_I probably shouldn't tell you this..._  
_I'm at an event with Lou, and Layla's here_

Had there not been anyone around me, I'd have stopped dead and clutched my stomach. Just seeing Layla's name made it clench and lurch. Below the texts was a picture of Lou, her usual peace sign posed, and behind her hand was the woman who broke my heart. The sun, and my rushed footsteps, were making it difficult to see her properly, but I knew it was her, and I'd never experienced such a feeling of almighty loss, mixed with a rush of overwhelming love and relief, at seeing her after so long. I'd obviously taken too long to react since opening Gem's messages because another one came through.

 **Gemma**  
_Shit! I shouldn't have said anything._

I walked into the restaurant, but instead of going to find my friends, I headed to the bathroom and locked myself in a cubicle. It was torture, but I wanted to study every detail of her picture. Layla's hair was shorter but still blonde, she was tucking a loose curl behind her ear and smiling to a red headed woman I recognised as Rose. The picture was grainy and pixelated so I turned up the brightness and zoomed in, wishing the photo would reveal more; was she happy? Was she seeing someone? Did she still hate me?

**Harry**  
_What's she doing there?_

  
My fingers shook as I typed, my rings making my movements so heavy and clumsy that I wanted to tear them off. Common sense told me to go meet my friends and to not let it affect me so much that  my sister, and closest friend, were in the same room as the person I desperately wanted to be but my feet were stuck. Thankfully, Gemma didn't make me wait too long for a reply.

 **Gemma**  
_I think her and a friend organised the event. Should I have not told you? I didn't want to keep it from you. Are you OK?_

**Harry**  
_It's fine, I'm just surprised. Have you spoken to her?_

  
Closing my eyes, I leant my head against the wall and tried to breathe normally. Another message came through, but to my annoyance it was just  Jeff asking if he'd imagined seeing me arrive. I quickly replied that I'd be with them in a minute then sent a message to my sister. I shouldn't have asked if they'd spoken, torn between wanting to find out everything about her life now, and worried Gemma would be horrible to her out of loyalty, so I was reluctant to wait for an answer. I'd also spent months convincing mum and Gem that I was over Layla, that maybe they had been right about it just being infatuation, but that I was okay now. I probably should have just left it at my surprise.

**Harry**  
_Don't speak to her, Gem, not unless she speaks to you first. Please._

  
Hitting send, I left the toilet cubicle and headed downstairs. I walked through the restaurant to find my friends, and I could hear some mutterings as I passed tables, my name being whispered excitedly behind menus and against the rims of glasses. But when I spotted Jeff and Glenne, I ignored the murmurs and readied my smile - the pang of jealousy I usually got from seeing them together was there, but it was normally fleeting. After Gem's messages, it was like a punch to the gut.

"Hersh!" Jeff grinned as soon as he spotted me approaching them, "We were getting worried, man."

The couple rose from their chairs and greeted me like we hadn't seen each other in weeks, but in fact it had actually only been a day or two.

"Sorry, I needed to make a quick call. My sister," I explained as we took our seats, and Jeff handed me the menu he no doubt knew off by heart because I'd kept them waiting so long.

"Everything alright?" Glenne asked, concerned, making me feel bad for the lie.

"Nothing serious," I answered, forcing a smile, "have you guys ordered?"

Once we'd ordered food, my mind went quickly back to Gemma and why she still hadn't responded to my last message. I knew I was being quiet and distracted, but try as I might, my focus was stuck on that photo and what was happening over five thousand miles away.

After the third time of asking Jeff to repeat a question because I hadn't been listening, he threw his hands up and asked outright, "Okay, that's it! What's going on? It's been like talking to a wall since you got here." He leant his elbows on the table and looked me in the eye, but I didn't have the chance to speak before he rolled his eyes, "it's Layla, right?"

He seemed to have cottoned on to how I behaved when something related to her had upset me. He either knew me too well, or I did a much worse job at hiding it than I thought.

Jeff and Glenne knew all about my relationship with Layla, but they had been the biggest naysayers - along with mum and Gemma - and they'd made no secret of being relieved when I had told them it was over for good. Just like mum had been, they'd both been sympathetic, but were always quick to tell me that it was for the best. Jeff was a smart man, and he knew that the baggage Layla brought would affect my career at its most pivotal - I'd started to finally escape the tabloid rumours of multiple girlfriends and older women, I would only undo all the hard work if suddenly I was found out to be in a relationship with a divorced woman in her thirties. That's how he saw it anyway, and while he wasn't exactly wrong, I should have handled the situation better than just impulsively jumping into bed with someone without talking to Layla first about my concerns. My friends and family had been against me being with Layla, but I'd been the coward who had messed it up.

"Gemma's at an event and... Layla's there."

Her name felt weird in my mouth, I thought it a hundred times a day, but I didn't dare ever say it aloud because it was usually met with looks of concern or annoyance. Picking my phone up off the table, I showed them the picture, more for my benefit than theirs - I just wanted to look at it again.

The couple exchanged a look, but Glenne spoke before Jeff had the chance, "Do you really want to go down this road again?" Realising how harsh her words had sounded, she looked me in the eye, and asked, softly, "are you okay?"

"I feel numb, I think." I shrugged.

The truth was, I hadn't even left the said road, Layla was always on my mind from the moment I woke up. But the conversation was too heavy for the setting, and my emotions were too near the surface for me to really talk about how seeing her felt without running the risk of breaking down. Numb was the right word for now, but that barely covered how I truly felt; I wanted to weep, to shout, to punch a wall, and let my heart break all over again. Instead, I gave the picture one last glance and turned the phone over to lay the screen flat on the table.

"H, you have so much to look forward to," Jeff spoke, his statement sounding like a matter of fact, "you need to forget her."

"I know, and I'm trying."

He wasn't unsympathetic, neither of them were, but other than mum and Gemma, he was the only one who knew the full story. He'd made me leave the house when I just wanted to lie in bed, he'd sobered me up when I'd escaped London to LA and had thought drowning my sorrows was a good idea, and he'd continuously reminded me that I had to keep going, that wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to fix anything. He had already been wary of Layla - watching me fall to pieces, and having to repeatedly put me back together - so nobody suspected what I was going through, and it only made him dislike her more. I imagined that after our holiday in St. Barts, and my rekindling a relationship with Kendall, he had hoped that maybe I truly was back on track again. I also imagined that he was now expecting a major setback.

I let out a loud sigh, sitting back in my chair and running my fingers through my long hair which would soon be cropped short. "This is just a setback, and a bit of shock. I'm also worried why Gem hasn't replied to my last message."

"Maybe they're brawling!" Jeff laughed, then when he saw my eyes widen in panic, he quickly added, "I'm joking, H."

Logically, I knew Jeff's comment was a flippant joke, but Gemma's radio silence was making me nervous, and it had me picturing Lou and Rose tearing the girls apart as they kicked and punched and screamed hateful words at each other. My sister was still furious with Layla - so much so that I could almost see the steam shooting from her ears whenever the subject was brought up - so I couldn't entirely write off the possibility of a punch up. My sister, while fairly mild mannered, could have a vicious and barbed tongue when pushed, so I knew she would be fine. But Layla, after years of being scared to say how she felt because of Will shutting her down any time she opened her mouth, had me worried for her. Gemma was not unkind, but she was one of my biggest and fiercest protectors, and all she could see was that Layla broke my heart.

"It's no good, I need to call her." Getting up suddenly, I saw the look of worry on my friends' faces - one I thankfully hadn't seen for a few months - and clarified, "Gemma, I'm calling Gemma. I'll be quick, I promise, you guys order dessert and I'll be back."

It did little to placate them; Jeff shrugged a shoulder at his future wife because there was nothing he could to to stop me. They were concerned and frustrated that I was so hung up on this woman, but they at least loved me enough to let me get over it at my own pace and always be there  when they had to pick up the pieces.

Near the doors, I grabbed a passing waiter and asked him if there was somewhere private I could go to make a call. With the paps outside, and other diners looking like they were building up the courage to approach me and ask for photos, I needed to be alone without any interruptions. I would play the celebrity once I knew two of the people I loved the most weren't tearing each other's hair out. The waiter led me into a private dining room and quickly left me alone, but the phone was against my ear and ringing before he'd even closed the door. To my annoyance - but not to my surprise - the first few attempts rang and rang then went to voicemail. So, I decided to try the other person I knew who was at the party and thankfully she picked up almost instantly.

"Is Gemma with you?" I asked, skipping over the weak greeting Lou gave.

"Uh..." I could hear music and chatting in the background while she stalled, and I stupidly even tried to see if I could pick out Layla's voice, "...no, she isn't."

"Lou, where's my sister?" My patience already wearing thin, anger started to bubble at the thought that despite how long we'd been friends, she would consider lying to me.

"She's... fine! She's talking to Layla." Defeated, she sighed.

"What are they doing?" I knew that it was a good sign that Lou was on the phone to me and not breaking up a fight, but her distracted replied indicated that she was waiting for something to happen that meant she might have to step in. "Lou! What are they doing?"

"Haz, calm down, they're just talking," Lou said, attempting to soothe me, but the panic was in full flow, and I was past the point of calming down. Steadying myself against the table in front of me, I wished I could go there and see Lil, and stop Gemma from lashing out.

"Please, you have to get her to call me as soon as she's done". Pleading, I fought back asking her to get them away from each other, knowing that her intervening would look even more like an attack on Layla. "Please."

"Okay, of course, I'll tell her." She sighed again, but this time it was more like Jeff's shrug, accepting that there was no point in trying to reason with me until I spoke to my sister.

  
**Gemma**

It had taken a moment for me to click who she was; her hair was shorter and blonder, and she was taller because of her high-heels, but the most noticeably different thing, which made her almost completely unrecognisable, was that she looked happy.

The night we'd met in Harry's kitchen, she'd been drinking, and I could tell she'd been crying; her eyes were a little puffy and red, and she had an aura of unbelievable sadness around her. Layla, that night, had been quiet, demure, and a little standoffish - not at all what I expected from the woman who had Harry so besotted. But this Layla who was rushing around, making passing jokes with her friend, and greeting everyone with a warm and genuine smile, I could understand his attraction to her more.

Mum and I had spent months worrying about Harry and how much he'd been broken by the end of the relationship. At first, we put it all down to infatuation, and the age old adage 'you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone', but we quickly went from telling him he had nobody to blame but himself for cheating on her, to being furious with Layla for causing him so much pain. I didn't hate her for finishing her relationship with my brother - that had actually been a huge relief for all of us - but I hated how she did it. It felt so cold and callous. It made Harry question if he ever loved her, and made it impossible to reassure him that she had, because her actions seemed to show that it was easy for her to cut him out of her life completely. From the start, we'd been worried he would end up brokenhearted and pining for a woman who was old enough to know better, so when exactly that happened, it made us all angry with her. Just seeing her at the party, smiling like she didn't have a care in the world, made my blood boil. I wanted to cause a scene and tell her exactly what I thought of her.

What stopped me from giving her a public dressing down, was Harry's response to my momentary lapse of reason in telling him I was with her. He tried to sound unbothered, but the panic and desperation to know more radiated from his messages. I wanted to speak to her, to give her a piece of my mind, but I vowed to myself and Lou that I wouldn't make a scene.

When I finally calmed myself, and approached Layla, she was talking to her friend at the bar. They both looked surprised to see me come over, but while Layla's face changed to worry, the friend looked ready - despite how pretty and angelic she seemed - to fight to the death if I was there to cause an argument. The redhead backed down when Layla touched her arm and greeted me warmly, but I wasn't sure if it was out of professionalism or because she knew it would probably get back to Harry.

The two of us exchanged greetings then fell silent. I wanted to tear her to shreds, but the cold, blue-eyed glower from her friend had its desired effect by keeping me quiet, so it was Layla who spoke again.

"Gemma, this is my friend and business partner, Rose. Rose, this is Harry's sister, Gemma," she said, with a warning glance at her friend.

In a three-sixty change, Rose smiled at me genuinely and spoke with a thick London accent that sounded strange coming from someone who looked so... otherworldly, "it's so nice to meet you, Gemma, are you enjoying the party?"

"Nice to meet you too, and I am, thank you! Are you two the planners?" I asked, glancing at Layla, who was looking at me with a strange expression on her face. I wanted to defensively ask what she was staring at but she spoke before I had the chance.

"We are! It's only our third event, but other than a tube strike making a few of our servers late, there hasn't been any drama so far!"

The three of us forced a laugh, and I caught the not-so-subtle hint that she hoped I wasn't going to be the one to cause any drama. Once again, I caught her peering closely at me, and it dawned on me that maybe she was was looking for a resemblance between me and Harry. To the untrained eye, there wasn't much of one, but from the way she cast her gaze down, and pretended to look at her hot pink clipboard, I could tell she'd found it.

"Do you have a second to chat?" I asked, suddenly feeling nervous. I'd gone over with all guns blazing, having every intention of calmly making sure she knew what she'd done, but the two friends' being so genuinely welcoming had caught me completely off guard. Now, I not only wanted to tell her how much she'd broken Harry's heart, but I also wanted her to help me understand why.

"Of course!" Smiling and placing the clipboard she'd held onto the bar, she turned to me and gave me her full attention.

Without having to be asked, Rose took her cue and excused herself. "I'm on the headset if you need me," she reminded Layla, tapping her ear before shooting me a look that I imagined would put the fear of God into many people stronger than I. It felt like a threat when she said to me, "enjoy your evening, Gemma, let us know if you need anything."

"She's a pussy-cat, really," Layla grinned as she watched her friend walk away from us. She then turned to look me dead in the eye, "I didn't know if you would want to talk to me."

Nodding, and answering honestly, I admitted, "I nearly didn't, and..." she cocked her head to one side, and I decided that mentioning Harry knew she was at the party with me was not a good idea, not yet, "...but, I felt we should at least say hello and address the elephant in the room."

"Well, I appreciate that, thank you." She relaxed a little, and became a little less on the defensive, more open to what I had to say. "How's Harry?"

The question took me so by surprise that had she slapped me around the face I'd have been less shocked. There was no gentle build up, she just asked outright what she wanted to know. Looking her over, I considered my reply, and the intent of her asking how he was. Her face was impassive, but there was a flash of something in her eyes that was gone before I could be certain what it was.

"He's really good! He's really, really happy!" Layla, the woman who was throwing me off at every turn, did it once more by giving a wide, genuine smile of relief, like she'd genuinely been worried he might not be. "He's enjoying his time off."

Placing both hands on her heart, she chuckled, "I don't think you realise how good that is to hear. I'm- I'm really glad he's happy."

"Yeah, he's not long come back from his New Year's holiday in St. Bart's with his girlfriend, Kendall."

"Oh. Has he? Uh..."

This time, I caught the fleeting moment where she reacted exactly how I expected her to - her face fell, and she looked like she was about to cry or throw-up - but it was brief. Quickly, she was back to being happy that Harry had moved on, forcing a smile, determined not to show me that being told about Harry's holiday romance had affected her. I felt it unnecessary to tell her that he wasn't actually with Kendall anymore.

"Well, I'm just glad he's happy!" She said. "That's really all I ever wanted, believe it or not."

"He is happy," I replied, still unsure if I did in fact believe it. "Are you?"

Layla paused, and the petty part of me was pleased that this time it was me who had taken her by surprise. Looking at me sceptically, I saw her try to work out if the question was a trap, and if she told me she was, I would tell her she didn't deserve happiness after what she did.

"I am." Smiling coyly, and probably hoping that wasn't the wrong thing to say, she continued, "we're just getting things off the ground with the business so I'm working like crazy, and... like Harry, I'm even dating a little. Nothing serious, I don't feel ready for that yet."

For a moment, she was distracted, looking off to the other side of the bar and putting a finger to her ear to hear what was being said in her headset. Feeling my phone vibrating in my bag, I pulled it out, and wasn't surprised to see the picture of Harry I'd taken the Christmas just gone, which signalled his call. I let it go to voicemail, crammed the phone back into my clutch, and hoped Layla hadn't seen it, but when I looked up, she was watching me with amusement for trying to hide the evidence.

"You told him I'm here then?" Layla asked, calmly.

Sighing, I nodded and shrugged, "I did. But he's in LA, or I probably wouldn't have. I think you know why."

She chuckled and shook her head, "Odd to think that the one thing we can agree on is that we don't want Harry in the same room as me. Although, I suspect it's for very different reasons."

Once again, she became distracted, but this time there was nobody talking in her ear. She frowned and chewed her bottom lip, staring at where I'd just hidden my phone as she seemed to debate  over something in her head.

Suddenly, her eyes lifted to meet mine and she let her wall down. Leaning in close to me, Layla asked with a need that completely changed my opinion of her, "please, Gemma, is he really okay? I just want to know that he's all right."

I hesitated. She was close to tears, her bottom lip wobbling before she caught it between her teeth, and I could sense that it had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to let thoughts of Harry get to her. I'd come to talk to her because I wanted to hurt her emotionally, I'd wanted her to know that me, and all the other people who'd helped Harry put himself back together, would never forget what she had done. But I didn't want to do that anymore. Layla was torturing herself enough over it, and she didn't need me to tell her how much Harry was hurting, she already knew it because she was going through exactly the same amount of pain.

Finding myself reaching out and touching her arm, I looked her in the eyes and said, with as much conviction as I could muster, "He really is, Layla. He wasn't for a while, and that made me furious with you, but... but you did the right thing."

"Sometimes, I question that." Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she scoffed, and she carefully wiped them away with the tips of her fingers. "I miss him a lot, Gemma, I really do. I miss him so much sometimes that it physically hurts, but I needed to get my life together. We were becoming so toxic that I would never have been able to fix all the other things that were broken while I was worrying that he wanted someone else, or that he was unhappy being with me. I know that you hated me, and you all probably hate me even more now, but I want you to know that I did love him. I still do. But..." She shrugged sadly, "I just couldn't keep having my heart broken."

Wordlessly, I nodded and looked over to where Lou was standing, seeing her just as she ended a call with a worried grimace. Harry had obviously tried calling her after I'd ignored him, and I could only imagine how frantic with worry he was that Layla and I were tearing each other's hair out. I let out a sigh, and turned my focus back to Layla. She'd regained her composure, and was holding her clipboard tightly to her chest like armour, waiting for my response.

"We never hated you, Layla, we were just worried for Harry." I chuckled, hoping to keep the conversation positive, "See! That's another thing we can agree on - we both just want what's best for Harry."

"Yeah," exhaling, she forced a watery smile. "I'm glad we spoke, and I'm really happy that Harry's moving on."

"I'm glad we did too, and it saves any awkwardness for any future run-ins," we both laughed, and I almost saw the wall go back up and her turn back into the friendly, professional person I'd first approached. "I'll let you get back to work, or Rose will probably shout at me."

Layla laughed again - cheeks dimpling, not unlike Harry's - and nodded in agreement, and we looked over to where Rose was stood, watching us closely. I was about to say goodbye and walk away, when she blurted out, "This is totally your call but, tell him I said hello."

We both knew there was slim chance of me passing on her regards, but I told her I would, and that seemed to make her happy. We said goodbye, and I headed back over to Lou who grimaced as I got close.

"Harry wants you to call him." Handing me a cocktail, which I drank down in two gulps, she quickly added, "and I'm sorry, but he knows you were talking to her. How did it go? It seemed like it went well."

"I really, really expected to hate her, and I thought she'd be totally uncaring about him, but she... she really loves him. This whole time, I was convinced she'd broken his heart, but he broke hers too." I looked around the room, at the event Layla and Rose had put together impeccably. I could see them talking to the woman whose product launch it was, and again, I barely recognised Layla as the red-eyed woman who'd been in Harry's kitchen.

"What are you going to say to Haz?" Lou asked, forcing me to face that I would eventually have to call him and give him some version of our conversation. "Do you think this is going to make things bad again?"

Digging my phone out of my bag, I saw three missed calls from Harry. I regretted telling him I was at the same party as Layla, and I wished I knew for certain what would make it all easier for him. As it was, I could only hope I was doing the right thing by letting them both think that the other was doing just fine.

Signalling for Lou to follow me out, so I could call my brother, I made a decision, "I'm going to tell him that she's happy, and that she's moving on. That's what I told her he was doing, and that seemed to make her happy. I just hope that it does the same for him."

  
**Harry**

Ending the call, I drove to Jeff's calmly while I processed what Gemma had told me. I turned the radio up loud to keep the barrage of conflicting thoughts at bay, but as I pulled up to the house and parked, my chest tightened, and I felt the horrible realisation creep up on me that Layla and I were truly over.

I'd been holding on to the idea that somehow we'd get back together, a secret hope, which made each day apart that little bit more bearable. But Gemma had told me that Layla was happy without me, she was running her own business, and what killed me the most, even dating someone. Putting my head on the steering wheel, I let the pain engulf me, a fresh new wound opening because Layla no longer needed me like I needed her. I'd enjoyed being her strength, being the positive in her life when Will had treated her so badly, but she didn't need to rely on me for that anymore. My fuck up had made certain that I was a positive that had become a big, fat negative, and for that, I was left behind, not knowing how to move forward.


	24. Without Her

**2017 - May**

**Harry**

Layla James. That's what the magazine article said her name was. It didn't matter that I'd know her face anywhere, or that Rose was also pictured with her, the name change confused me, and I couldn't believe I was seeing Layla's face after so long. Standing up for no reason other than needing to feel like I was doing something, I stared at her photo to make sure I wasn't seeing things. Her hair was shorter, loose, blonde waves resting on her shoulders, she smiled at the camera just enough to make the dimples in her cheeks visible, and I could see a confidence I hadn't really seen in her before. But it was her - it was my Layla.

Seeing her in a magazine had thrown me. I didn't know what to do with myself or my emotions. A lot of my exes were regularly in the media, and I'd grown used to seeing someone I'd been intimate with as I read the newspaper and its accompanying supplements over my cornflakes, but I had never expected to see her. She looked...beautiful.

I sat back down and took a deep breath to calm myself. Grabbing my phone, I took a photo of the article and sent it to Jeff. I knew he'd probably start worrying that I was about to spiral again, but I felt excitement at seeing her more than upset or pain, and I had to tell someone about it.

He was quick to reply, though it was late in LA.

 **Jeff**  
_You ok?_

**Harry**  
_I'm good, man. Can we sort out sending some flowers to their office? To say congrats on the article?_

  
Jeff started to type, then stopped, then started again. Even when we weren't in the same place, I could tell he was reluctant to indulge me when it came to Layla. I could practically hear him muttering to himself "here we go again."

 **Jeff**  
_Yeah, no worries._  
_Are you sure you want to?_

I had to. She'd sent me roses - pink, like I always sent her - to congratulate and wish me luck when 'Sign of the Times' came out. I had kept the card that came with the flowers with me at all times, hidden away under my phone case. There'd been no name inside but I'd known it was from her, and I wanted to return the gesture.

**Harry**  
_Yes. Baby pink roses, but don't say they're from me. Thanks!_  
_Go to sleep!_

  
**Jeff**  
_Ok, I'll sort it out in the morning._

Setting my phone back down on the table, I looked at Layla's face again. I missed her so much, and all the feelings I'd spent three years learning to push down came flooding back, a huge wave of love, and an aching absence for the one who got away. Long since forgotten memories bubbled up to the surface, along with the things that I loved about her, things that frustrated me, and things she did that she probably didn't realise made me adore her.

I was struck by the memory of when I knew I was falling in love with her. I'd already suspected it was happening, and I'd tried to brush it off as just infatuation for someone I couldn't have, but seeing Layla crying that night in the restaurant changed everything. I knew then that we were more than just two people who'd had a throwaway fling. I was worried for her, and I wanted nothing more than to protect her from whatever Will had said or done to upset her. When I'd tried to go over, she'd shook her head, worried that I'd only make things worse. So, all I could do was watch as Will practically dragged her from their table, and watch as she gave me a quick glance over her shoulder, her face fraught with fear and misery over what was possibly going to happen when they were alone. The expression on her face had haunted me, so much so that I'd invited Will and Terry to our movie premiere just so she would be there too. I'd sent her a message to tell her I really wanted her to be there, and she'd sent a short reply agreeing. I just wanted to make sure she was okay, and even if we didn't rekindle our affair, I'd at least know that everything was alright.

When I saw Terry's daughter, Mia, instead of Layla, I'd thought she'd come in her place, and I was disappointed that she had changed her mind. Any other time I would have just casually asked Will where she was, but I had found saying anything other than a quick hello to him too difficult, so I'd tried to just enjoy the night. So, my heart had skipped a beat when I'd been in the hotel bar talking to Alice, and I'd looked up to see Layla stood in the doorway, dressed in black like she was was attending a funeral, and looking at me with what almost looked like jealousy.

I talked her into meeting me in a room upstairs, which I'd requested specifically so we would have somewhere to talk alone. She'd sat on the edge of the bed, with her shapely legs crossed, and a passive smile on her red lips, and told me that her crying had been because she'd been tired and emotional from her holiday. I'd known she was lying, but as I joined her on the bed, I'd had no choice but to accept her insistence that there was nothing wrong, that she'd made it all seem worse than it actually was. And then, when she tried to leave, I stopped her, and I told her I missed her. As soon as we kissed again, I knew that I couldn't walk away from her easily. I wanted her, I needed her, and although she tried to fight it, I knew Layla felt the same.

I was downstairs when the penny dropped. After we'd arranged to spend more than one night together, after I'd joined her while she sat alone waiting for her husband to appear, after I'd introduced her to my mother, and after I'd read the horrible message Will had sent her saying he'd already left - confirming what I'd suspected, that Layla's insistence that the restaurant incident had just been a one off was really her refusal to show me anything but perfection, after all of that, as we shared a public goodbye in the hotel foyer, hugging and touching as much as we could without arousing suspicion, I finally realised that I was falling head over heels in love with Layla French. The way she smiled and rolled her eyes at my flirtatious comments. The sweet, lingering smell of her perfume, and how she leaned against me when we hugged, and all the other million things that made not asking her to stay almost impossible. I watched her walk away to get her ride home, and I accepted how I felt. I wanted to leave with her, or better still, wanted her to stay so she could meet all my friends and family. The ache of her leaving made me breathless, and sense told me things had gone too far, but the realisation came too late - I was already counting down the days until we were together again.

The next morning, as I nursed my hangover, I tried to get back some control, pretended like two nights together would probably drive us both mad with boredom or irritation. But then when we were together, and I'd overheard her telling her friend, Rose, that she was excited about her birthday celebrations (and that of course Will had forgotten to get her anything like it was an in-joke), I cast aside all control. She deserved the world, and I wanted to give it to her.

Remembering how beautiful she'd looked as she smelled the pink roses, which I'd now come to associate with her, made my chest ache.

With an urgent need of distraction before I was swallowed up by emotion, I switched my focus back to the magazine. The article itself was about female owned businesses and the women who ran them. Layla and Rose had started their own event planning company, aptly named 'Layla-Rose Events', and in the short time it had been up and running, it was going from strength to strength. They talked about how they got started, how they'd both put everything they had into it, and how exciting it had been moving into their new office in Shoreditch. It then went on to list some of the famous people they'd planned for. I had friends who'd been to their parties, and they all commented on how well run the events were, and how everything was catered for. I'd casually ask how it was, out of interest, mentioning that I knew the owners, and taking a rare opportunity  to say her name without being met with a look of worry or derision. Invitations would frequently arrive for me, but because I knew full well that they were at the request of the client, and not because Layla wanted me there, the instruction was given to always politely decline unless told otherwise. The days where I turned up somewhere she didn't want me to just to get her attention were long gone.

I read the article over three times in a row, trying to remember her voice and how the words she was quoted as saying would sound coming from her mouth. There wasn't enough information, and I felt frustration stir in my belly every time I read that she was now friends with Will and Terry. So much so, in fact, that they'd helped the two women find some of their earlier clients, and also let them use some of their office space when it was just a two person operation.

Will. Of all the people Layla could forgive and allow to be a part of her life, she had chosen Will. I'd been baffled enough by Terry's appearance the last time I'd ended up on Lil's doorstep, begging to be heard, but at least he'd always been her supporter. Will, on the other hand, had only ever bullied, berated, and lied to her. Sat alone in my kitchen, with only a chance discovery of an interview in a magazine to tell me what was going on in her life, the frustration and bitterness grew until I had to get up and walk away. I'd come to terms with Layla and I breaking up, and how it had been of my own doing, but I just could not understand how -in comparison to Will- I deserved total exile.

Safely away from the picture of Layla's happy, smiling face, the anxiety brought on by how unfair it all felt began to settle. Taking deep and steady breaths, I reminded myself that the decision was not mine to make, and I had to accept that she didn't want me to be a part of her life. She had made her own happiness; she had her own business, she had Rose, and she had all the other people around her that she wanted, and that made her happy. I also had my career and my impending tour, I had the beginnings of a new relationship that was making me happy in a way I hadn't really felt since Layla, and I had my own group of people who loved and supported me.

We had both moved on.

Or rather, Layla had made her decision, and I had no choice but to go along with it.

  
**2017 - August**

**Will**

In one of the toughest weeks of my life, two things happened that I never imagined would; the first being my mother, Verity, in the final hours of her life, telling me that she hoped Terry and I were going to have a long and happy life together. And the second was when Harry Styles called to arrange a meeting with Terry and I about us working on his second tour. I wasn't sure which of the two shocked me more.

Harry's call came the day after my mother had passed away, and I was hiding away in my office, hoping that if I pretended to work for long enough that it would distract me from my grief. I gave instructions to Maggie at reception that anyone who called was to be told I was out of office and I would get back to them, or they were to be put through to someone else who could help. But, when Maggie poked her head around the door with a strange look on her face, and said that Harry Styles was on the line, asking to speak to me only, I made an exception.

"Hello?" I tried my best to sound friendly, hoping that he wouldn't hear the confusion in my voice.

"Hello, Will, it's Harry." His deep voice sounded wary, as though he was unsure if calling was a good idea. I imagined that he wasn't exactly overjoyed at the prospect of being in a room with me, seeing as the last time we were I'd punched him.

"It's good to hear from you, Harry, what can I do for you?"

Harry explained that he would be going on a small venue tour that would start at the end of September and would end in early December. He would then be going on a larger, arena tour in mid-March, and he was hoping our company would be interested in working with him.

For a moment I was stunned silent. The week already had a dream-like quality to it, and Harry wanting to possibly work together only added to that fact. Eventually, I managed to find a reply. "Yes, of course, we'd love to work with you again, Harry! When would you like to come in?"

"Would next Wednesday be okay?" Harry asked, thankfully not suggesting the day I'd just arranged to have my mother's funeral. "At three?

"I have an appointment at twelve, but I will be done by three, so that all sounds good to me. It'll be nice to see you again after so long."

He hummed dubiously, and then we both fell into an awkward silence. We could have said goodbye then, hung up, and gone on our merry way, but neither of us said anything. I wanted to give him the time to ask the question I was suspecting he was waiting to ask. However, it never came. Instead, he suddenly said he had to go because of another call, and quickly hung up.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I sat back in my chair, and after realising I'd practically held my breath for the entirety of the phone call, I exhaled. While I sent Terry a message to come see me when he was free, I couldn't help but think there had to be some sort of ulterior motive. I was glad of the chance to have Harry's business, and despite what was going on quite literally behind the scenes, he had always been pleasant to work with. But, I couldn't for a second let myself think that his request to meet wasn't some sort of ploy. We had a rocky history, and I was never going to be the top of his list unless he could get something out of it. Something that couldn't just be said on the phone. Something that no doubt also involved my ex-wife.

Terry and I agreed that Layla didn't need to know about the meeting with Harry unless it was absolutely necessary. She was happy, and I liked seeing her that way, so there wasn't any point in stirring up old feelings over a meeting that might not lead anywhere. It also meant that Joel, Layla's boyfriend of over a year, and our resource manager, would need to be included on the need to know basis list. I found a supplier I needed him to go see, so he wouldn't be in the building, and only Terry, Maggie, and I knew that Harry would be visiting.

Before my meeting with Harry, I had one on Park Lane with my mother's solicitor to discuss the reading of her will, and all the boring admin sides of losing a loved one. I was the sole heir of her inheritance, but things had been so frosty and unfriendly between us since I finally told her I was with Terry that I half expected to find out she'd followed through with her threats and donated everything to a donkey sanctuary. But, other than a few pieces of jewelry that she'd strangely left Lil, and some money which she did want donated to a donkey sanctuary, all my mother's estate fell directly to me. The son who'd disappointed her, repeatedly.

The meeting itself was short, but the traffic back to the office was slow moving and long, so by the time I finally parked my car in the usual spot, I was already fifteen minutes late.

"Are they here?" I asked Maggie as I burst through the glass doors into our building.

Maggie nodded and rushed from behind the reception desk. "Don't go in there looking like that though! You look ready to kill someone."

She placed her hands on my shoulders and made me take a few deep breaths until I was calmer.

"Traffic was a nightmare the whole way here. I forgot why I stopped dr-"

"Will, it doesn't matter. You're here now, and Terry has everything under control. Harry has his manager, Jeff, with him, and I've already taken in coffee while they waited for you. I've also checked and there isn't any chance of Joel or Layla making a surprise appearance. Now! Get in there and do what you do best!"

Chuckling, I let my shoulders relax and thanked my lucky stars that at least one of us was confident I could face Harry again. "Thank you, Mags. What would we do without you?"

"The building would collapse around your ears, William. I'm like the ravens at the Tower of London, you're all doomed when I leave."

Nerves made an appearance as I approached the meeting room, and I wondered if Terry would kill me if I just went and hid in my office until Harry and his manager were gone. The reality of losing my mother had started to kick in as I'd listened to her final wishes, and both Harry and I knew full well that I didn't handle things the best when my emotions were running high.

But, then I remembered that was the point! Harry had his ulterior motive, and so did I. I wanted to, at the very least, make amends and apologise for my behaviour the last time we were in a room together, which I'd been too cowardly to do before now. After I'd thrown the punch, I'd left Layla's house, and was too scared to face what I had done. Terry took over all of One Direction's requests and meetings, and I'd hidden away in shame. This opportunity was mine for the taking, I could show Harry that I wasn't who I'd once been, and that I had changed for the better.

Pushing the door open, I entered the room, and all three men turned to look at me.

"I am so sorry for keeping you!" I smiled, ignoring the glare I was getting from Harry's manager as I shook his hand, "I think I got caught in every conceivable bit of traffic on my way here!"

"We were just saying that driving around London is a nightmare this time of day!" Terry laughed, backing me up as we exchanged glances that told me he'd been working a tough crowd.

The already tense room became even more so as Harry and I came face to face. I felt both Terry and Jeff ready themselves in case one of us erupted into a fight, but looking at Harry - the man who'd had an affair with my wife - I felt nothing but an odd sense of affection. Layla, on the rare occasion she spoke of Harry, had said the same thing - he had given her the confidence to leave me, and although I'd been angry and bitter at the time, it led to my finally having the wonderful, happy life I had with Terry. The huge guilt I felt was because, maybe, I'd ruined Layla's chance at that same happiness.

When I shook Harry's hand, I made sure to look him in the eye in hope that he would know how warm and genuine my words were, and that I held no grudges against him. I only hoped he felt the same. "It's really good to see you again, Harry."

"Yeah, you too." He muttered, giving me a tight-lipped smile before sitting back down and taking a sip of his black coffee.

Walking around the large, rectangle table, I went to sit next to Terry, who squeezed my knee and gave me an encouraging wink. The gesture, though small, reminded me that I was not alone. My husband-to-be was at my side, reminding me that Harry was the last piece of the puzzle I had left to mend.

With renewed determination, I reached for the folder that contained the company's proposal for Harry's tour, opened it, and fixed a smile on my face. "So! You're going on tour then, Harry?"

Terry had been excited to plan Harry's set, choosing to work on most of the designs himself. It took Harry by surprise when we told him that we were big fans of his album, especially when I confessed that we'd already had a lot of ideas in place for his set, because Terry and I would listen to albums we loved in the car and plan fantasy sets for them. His album had been in our car for at least a month after its release, so we'd planned a tour for it on many a journey to and from work.

The general idea was for it to be similar in simplicity to the designs Terry and my father had started off with in the seventies, but with all the wonders of modern technology. We wanted Harry's album, and his incredible stage presence, to speak for itself, whilst also having a setup that would use some of the beautiful visuals that had been created for the album.

To our relief, Harry and his manager seemed to like what we had in mind, nodding along as I ran through our ideas for each song on the rough setlist we'd been sent.

"But, of course, Harry, it's entirely up to you, and we're open to anything you want to do to represent your work," Terry said, as our presentation drew to a close. "However, as you both know, the sooner we get started the better."

"I like it," Harry answered, glancing at Jeff before leaning in to look at the sketches. "It's not too far from what I was picturing."

Jeff, who was a little keener to keep his cards close to his chest, nodded in agreement, then quickly added, "we have another meeting tomorrow, and then we'll let you know. I'm guessing the circular screen will take the longest to manufacture?"

"Yes, but the company we use is quick to get the ball rolling, so it'll actually be quicker than one would imagine. It's checking the mechanics that make it move, which slow down the process."

Satisfied with Terry's answer, the two young men looked at each other and fell silent.

Seeing an opportunity, I looked at Harry and asked, "was there anything else you needed to know?"

Everything felt tense again, as I handed him a platform to get whatever he had come to say off his chest. As his gaze met mine, I could see the words fighting to be said, but his lips betrayed him by staying clamped shut in a tight, thin line.

It was Jeff who surprised us all by asking, "How's Layla?" Harry slowly turned to look at him, and Jeff shrugged, "H, if I waited for you to ask, we'd be here all day."

Smiling, I was relieved someone had said what I was waiting for. Harry had wanted to ask, but he didn't trust me, and he was well within his rights not to. However, I hoped that when I answered, he would know that I was grateful every day for having my ex-wife's forgiveness when I really wasn't deserving of it. I also wanted to help him get it too.

"Layla is doing really well. Her and Rose are working their socks off to make the business a success, and she's the happiest I've seen her in a long time. You should go to one of her events, Harry, you'd be incredibly proud."

"Will..." Terry groaned, covering his face with his hand, making me realise that what I'd said had sounded much better in my head. I'd wanted to encourage Harry to make his move, but it had come across like I was gloating.

Harry sat up in his seat and leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. Voice measured and restrained, he said, "I think you know why I haven't been, Will. She doesn't want me there."

Clearing his throat, Terry suddenly stood up and clapped his hands together. "Jeff! Why don't I give you a tour of the building? Show you some of the mock ups for some of the old sets we've done, I keep them all."

Jeff looked at Harry for the okay, and Harry nodded and muttered it was fine. We waited for them to leave, Terry whispering to me, as he passed, to remember that I didn't want to fight Harry, I wanted to help him.

As soon as the door closed, I sighed, "I know, I'm sorry. That's not how I meant that to come across."

"Sure," Harry replied, somewhat dubiously. "Okay, yeah, as I'm sure you know, I struggled with her decision at first, but I've accepted it." He then added with a hint of bitterness, "She chose you."

"So, you aren't here because you want me to help you get back in touch with her, then?" I chose to gloss over his comment about me having won. I hadn't won, Lil hadn't chose me. It had merely been luck that Terry loved us both enough to help us work past the hurt we'd caused each other. I knew full well that had he not been around, I'd have been out of Layla's life, and wouldn't have had the chance to grow a friendship where there had once only been hate and bitterness.

"Why do you think I need you to help me? I saw that article, I know where her office is." Defiant, Harry sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

"I don't know, Harry, you tell me why."

Harry looked away, reluctant to admit that I was right. Getting up from my seat, I went and sat in the one next to him that Jeff had recently vacated, turning it so I could look at him. "Listen, I know we have a... difficult history, and I understand why you're reluctant to trust me. But, believe it or not, I am on your side."

"Difficult? That's a bit of an understatement," Harry scoffed. Turning so we were face to face, he asked, "Why? Why are you suddenly on my side? You said L... You said Layla's happy, why would you help me when you know she doesn't want me?"

The pause before he said her name was excruciating, and it told me everything I needed to know about him since Layla had cut him out. I'd heard the songs on his album, heard the pain of someone who'd had their heart broken almost beyond repair, but he was an artist, and embellishment was a tool of the trade. Harry being unable to say her name, without some sort of mental run and jump over the wall he'd built, was evidence that there hadn't been much embellishment at all.

But first, I had to address my own issues. Taking a deep breath, I remembered all the things I'd worked on in my therapy sessions, accepted that Harry might not forgive me the way others had, and reminded myself that I had changed. I wasn't the Will that Harry had once known.

"I am not the same person as I was back then. I was a horrible man, one who was so caught up in a lie that I'd brought upon myself that I lashed out at the people around me for no other reason than I felt trapped. Layla bore the biggest brunt of that, but even when she found out about Terry and I, she was never malicious. She was sympathetic even, she told us that had I been honest from the start, she would have probably helped us keep our secret. She had the perfect chance to expose me, and get me back for the horrid way I treated her when she came with me to tell my mother about the divorce. She could have told her then, but she sat quietly as she was called a whore and a gold-digger, and she kept my secret." Chuckling, I tried to lighten the mood, but Harry remained unimpressed, "She also came with Terry and I when I finally told my mother about us being together, but I think that time was less for support and more for the enjoyment of seeing my mother hit the roof."  
"I already knew you were a shitty person, Will, and I'm sorry you felt like you had no choice, but it doesn't excuse what you did to her, the way you spoke about her to me when you were trying to be 'one of the lads'."

"I know that, Harry, and that's why I want to help you." Putting my hand on my heart, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. I spoke to Harry, but I also spoke to the universe, repeating the promises I'd already made to Layla and Terry - they were my highest priorities in life, and I would stop at nothing to see them happy. "Nothing I ever do will make up for my behaviour, but I love her, and I want her to have the happy life she thought she was going to have with me. She deserves it, after everything she's been through."

Though not entirely convinced, Harry seemed to accept my answer as genuine. But, he was impatient and waiting for the catch, for the moment I put on my fake moustache and cackled malevolently that I'd tricked him and had no plans to help, for the moment that I was going to tell Layla, and we would both laugh at how pathetic he was.

"So, what about our affair? Don't you hate me for going after her? I didn't know about you and Terry, I just thought you were a shitty husband, and I wanted to treat her better."

"Which is precisely why I don't hate you!" I said, emphatically. "At first I was angry, oh fuck was I angry! I wanted to ruin you and your career, to be honest, so you can thank Terry for stopping me, 'cause I nearly did it. But once I remembered that you didn't go to that little hotel rendez-vous alone, and once Terry reminded me that I all but pushed Layla into looking for love and affection somewhere else, I saw sense. You pursued her, but she's told me she didn't exactly put up a fight, quite the opposite."

Harry avoided my eyes at the mention of his hotel trysts with Layla, realising that I probably knew everything about their affair. Which, other than the gory details I didn't need to know, I did. I knew about him coming to the house after we'd all played golf, I knew about him being at the restaurant the night I'd made Layla cry, I knew about them spending her birthday together, and I knew about him asking her to leave me. He looked ashamed, but I'd long since stopped being angry about any betrayal I might have felt from Harry's actions. He'd said it himself, I was a shitty husband, and he had treated her better.

"I'm assuming this very forgiving outlook came after you punched me in the face?" He asked, not without humour, giving me hope of a truce.

"Harry, that night when I punched you, which I apologise profusely for, and which I regretted the moment it happened, I saw you two together and I was jealous. Of course, I now know the fragility of your relationship at that time, but i only saw the united front you put on, and I only saw that Layla was getting to be with the person she'd kept a secret, while I was still trapped."

Harry let out a sigh, and shook his head like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and was exhausted from carrying it. "There wasn't a united front, Will, I'd already ruined everything. You just made the inevitable happen sooner."

I chuckled, and he looked at me. I said, "It's funny, Layla said the same thing." Harry put his head in his hands, as though Layla agreeing with him made him lose all hope that she'd ever forgive him. "Do you love her?" I asked. "Really, really love her?"

Lifting his head to look me in the eye, he answered firmly, "Yes."

"And you want her back?"

"Yes, I want her back. More than anything."

"Tell me, why now? You're about to go on two tours, hardly the best environment for you both, considering there were trust issues," I paused, hoping I wasn't about to undo my hard work, "and, I thought I read that you were dating someone?"

"No, it-it didn't work out," he said, shaking his head and looking down, sadly. He was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. "Some of why is... it's a bit personal. I've lost some really important people, and I'm sure you understand that life is too short to not at least try to be with the person you're in love with. But also, seeing that magazine article stirred up a lot. I've never really gotten over her. I've dated other people, tried to move on and get on with my life, but it's been hard. It got a little easier after my sister, Gemma, spoke to Layla and told me she was happy without me, but I still think about her all the time." Harry laughed, and I could see him blushing a little, "It's really strange talking to you about her."

I joined in with his laughter, feeling some of the tension breaking as I nodded heartily in agreement, "It's strange hearing it, if truth be told, but all I really need to know is if you're really ready? Layla is ready to settle down again, not that she's racing up the aisle or picking paint for a nursery, the business is her main priority, but she's getting there." It was my turn to turn bashful, and a little sad. "Once upon a time, we had our own plans for the future."

"I'm ready. I made sure of that before coming to see you. I'm not really comfortable divulging my deepest feelings for your ex-wife to you, but I want to be with her. I never, ever, want to hurt her again." A smile played on his lips as he thought about it, as he pictured a life with Layla, "Life is going to be hectic for me, but it's always going to be like that. There'll never be a right time, so I want to try before it's too late, before she marries someone else."

The boardroom door opening suddenly startled us both, and I twisted in my seat to see Maggie grimacing, "I'm sorry, I know what I said, but Joel just turned up."

"Shit! Okay, thanks, Mags, just don't let him anywhere near here."

Maggie nodded, then disappeared. When I turned back to Harry, he seemed to be a lot more relaxed than he had been at the beginning of the meeting.

"Difficult client?" He asked with a cheeky smile.

I shook my head and let my shoulders sag. I'd wanted to break the news to Harry once I knew he was serious about being ready to be with Layla, but I knew he would only think I had been trying to keep things from him.

"Worse," I answered. "He's Layla's boyfriend."


	25. From The Dining Table

** 2017 **

 

**Harry**

Revenge. That's what it felt like, learning that Will had kept Layla's boyfriend a secret. He'd given me hope, made me think I actually had a chance of possibly being with her again, and most of all, he had made me think that maybe he was a better person, all out of revenge for what I did with his wife.

I got up from my seat, but Will was trying to reason with me, "Harry, please listen to me, I'm serious about wanting to help you."

"Jesus Christ! I don't even know why I'm surprised!"

I was only half listening, images of Layla with someone else were flooding my mind, making my chest ache with the same intensity it had when I'd heard her tell me she'd made a mistake by forgiving me. Will touched my arm, but I shook it off and went to pull open the door to leave. He placed his palm flat on the dark wood and stopped me from opening it.

"If you go out there, you run the risk of seeing the man who's going to propose to Layla. He doesn't know about you two, so he will tell her you were here."

"Propose?!"

Will touched my arm again, his expression sympathetic as he nodded. "But, she's going to turn him down. I know that with absolute certainty."

I didn't want to rise to the bait, didn't want to give him any chance of giving me more false hope, but I couldn't help my curiosity. "What makes you think that? Did she tell you?"

Moving away from the door, he perched on the end of the large boardroom table. Joel's arrival had thrown us both, and I suspected that even if he had been about to tell me Layla was with someone, he'd wanted to do it in a much better fashion than trying to stop me from bolting for the door. He was right, however, to think that I didn't want to see the man who was making the woman I loved happy.

"Terry and I are getting married, and Lil is helping us. We're knee deep in flowers, suits, cakes, and venues, but not once has my ex-wife expressed any interest in getting married to Joel."

"That doesn't me-"

"Harry," Will interrupted with a smirk, "I know that woman. We didn't have a great marriage, I was a dreadful husband, but she was still my wife. I know how she would be if she wanted to get married to him."

I was trying to make sense of what Will was saying. I didn't understand what he was trying to do. I was still partly convinced the whole thing was payback for me having an affair with Layla, and none of what he was saying had completely convinced me that Layla didn't want to get married again. The word 'revenge' was still making its presence known, and I was partly still convinced he was trying to get back at me for the affair, but I wanted to believe he was telling the truth. I wanted to believe I did still have a chance.

"You said she was happy, Will, why wouldn't she want that? I love her, and I want to be with her, but I don't want to break up a relationship if she's in love and happy."

I closed my eyes for a second, overwhelmed by how much it hurt to think of walking away. I felt hollow, but I was willing to feel that way if it meant she was with someone who worshipped her as much as I did.

"I'm not going to deny that Joel is wonderful, and he really has been the best thing for her after the way we treated her, but I... " He hesitated, then let the words propel from his mouth like a truth he'd been reluctant to admit. "I honestly think you two are meant to be together."

Turning away from him, I put both hands on the wall and dropped my head so my chin was buried against my chest. I wanted to be made for Layla, be her other half, be the positive on days where everything was a negative, and know each other in a way that couldn't be put into words. My love for her had grown over time instead of diminishing, it had matured and moved on from just the superficial things I'd first missed about her. I didn't just miss her voice, the sound of her laughter, or the taste of her on my tongue. I missed all those things and so much more. I missed talking to her, talking about personal things, serious things, silly things, missed hearing her talking about music she loved. I missed how when she was annoyed or excited there would be a small trace of her Liverpool accent, I missed the cute little noises she made when she woke up in the morning and would throw her arm across my chest as she stretched, and I missed how she'd put toothpaste on my brush so it was ready for when I went to brush my teeth. I missed everything she was, missed her presence, missed how we had been together before I'd become a coward and ruined everything.

Seeing that magazine article had made me remember all the things I'd loved about Layla, and I hadn't been able to forget any of it since. I saw her beautiful, smiling face, and it had felt like a sign. I had to give it one last shot, but I had to do it properly this time. I wasn't going to harass her, or turn up when she didn't know I was going to to be there, I was going to prove to her that Will wasn't the only one who had changed.

That was until Joel. Her boyfriend. The man who was going to propose, and probably make her very, very happy. He had probably never given her any cause to doubt him like I had.

"Harry?" Will prompted, gently.

Standing up, I wiped away the tears that had sprung to my eyes while I'd lost myself in the void Layla had left behind, and turned to face her ex-husband. He looked worried, and sad, and guilty.

"I can't do it, Will. I can't see her with someone else again." I ran my fingers through the hair I still sometimes forgot was short, and scoffed, "It was painful enough seeing her with you, and you made her miserable."

Will didn't try to deny it, he just grimaced then laughed at how right I was.

After a few moments, he said, "I'm sorry, Harry, I should have told you sooner. I was going to, I promise."

"It's... it's fine."

"My plan was for you to attend our wedding, Layla is going to be there. I understand completely if you'd rather not, but the invitation is there for you should you want it."

I felt tired, and I wished Jeff would come back so we could leave. I didn't want to go to their wedding, see Layla on the arm of someone else, looking at me like I was the ghost of Christmas past, reminding her of all the awful things she'd put behind her. Joel was going to propose, perhaps I had to just accept that Layla really was never going to be in my life again, and just leave her alone to be someone else's wife.

Will made sure the coast was clear, and then I left to go wait in the car while he went to fetch Jeff. My brain was scrambled, and my heart felt like it had just been used for a particularly vigorous game of tennis. Will's insistence that Layla wouldn't marry Joel had completely fallen on deaf ears, and all my idealistic fantasies of us being together, having our own wedding, being able to make her the happiest woman in the world, all vanished. In my mind, she was as good as married already, and I couldn't be the other man all over again.

"I can't fucking believe he didn't tell you straight away!" Jeff ranted as soon as he reached the car and opened the passenger door. "He could have told you when I asked how she was! Did you see him? Joel?"

I started the car and shook my head. I didn't feel angry anymore, just unbelievably sad. "No, did you?"

Jeff nodded, but I didn't press for details. Jealousy was already coursing through my veins, the one thing keeping me from collapsing in a sobbing heap. I didn't need to know what the man who would be marrying the love of my life looked like.

"Are you okay?" my friend asked. "What are you going to do?"

I didn't want to throw in the towel, but I didn't want to upset Layla's life either. "I liked their ideas, so if they want the tour then they can have it. Other than that, there's no point dredging up the past."

 

**Rose**

From the moment I met Layla, I knew we were going to know each other forever. I looked at the skinny girl from Liverpool who was going to be my roommate, as well as training me to be a rep, and it was like a little bell rang in my head telling me that I had just met my soulmate.

Quickly, we became inseparable. I'd never met anyone who made me laugh so much, and we were always being told off for laughing too much. We had so much fun together, and at first I couldn't understand why she had an aura of sadness around her that made me want to protect her. It wasn't anything I could put my finger on, and she never gave any indication that she was hiding something. But, when the four of us who shared an apartment together had a rare night off together, and we'd go spend our hard earned money in the bars and clubs we usually worked in, Layla was always the life of the party, until she'd suddenly disappear. The first couple of times it happened, the other girls would convince me everything was fine, speculating that she'd probably copped off with someone. One night though, I decided to follow her. I wasn't trying to pry, or overstep any boundaries, I was just concerned that there was something wrong.

She went back to the apartment, drunk and swaying as she tried to get the key in the lock, and I realised she was crying. I gave her a few minutes alone before going inside, expecting to possibly find her passed out and sprawled on her bed. Instead, I found her lying on the floor in the narrow gap between our beds, sobbing into her pillow. The urge to protect her took me by surprise, and when she wouldn't tell me what was wrong, I did the one thing I felt compelled to do, which was lay down next to her. She was shivering, so I pulled the covers over us, and I lay with her until she fell asleep.

But, it took a few weeks for her to open up about how she'd grown up, and even then I didn't find out about the worst of the details until after she'd told Harry and Terry. She'd let out little bits of details, the ones she felt she could say out loud, and I'd try my best to be strong, to not react like I was disgusted by her, but it broke my heart even then. I'd call my mother in floods of tears, telling her about my new friend, and how I had no idea what to do to help her. It was my first experience of being away from my family, and at 19 I thought I had all the street smarts I would ever need, I was from London, my grandad had once met one of the Kray twins, I was not to be fucked with! But, I was scared, and naive, and I felt completely helpless when it came to easing Layla's pain.

My mum, the voice of reason, and every bit the cockney matriarch, told me, "All you can do, Rosemary, is be you. When she needs you, she will come to you, and just like you are with your sisters, you will love her, you will protect her, but you won't take any shit or wallowing. It seems to me that what your friend needs is a lot of love, and you have plenty of that to give, my darling."

I'd taken those words to heart, and I marched up to Layla the next time I saw her, embodying my mother as I grabbed hold of her hand and told her firmly, "I am your family now, and so is my mum and sisters. Okay? We're sisters. You don't have to cry about being alone anymore, because you have me, and I am really hard to get rid of."

Layla's smile had been restrained, not entirely sure I was being serious, but she'd squeezed my hand and nodded, "Okay. Thank you."

"I'm serious. You're going to get a call from my mum asking you to come home with me for Christmas, and you're going to have to drink Snowballs while watching the Queen's speech, and pretend that you understand what my granny is saying even though no-one knows what she's banging on about. And you'll have to deal with my sister, Violet, cheating at Monopoly 'cause she's a cow."

"That sounds... that sounds perfect."

She mirrored my watery grin, both of us realising that we were making a pact to always be there for each other, just like we would if we were real sisters. It was only after she told me the truth about Bianca that it dawned on me that Layla had taken the deal as serious as me, because she felt like she'd failed her baby sister. I wasn't quite a do-over, but I was a second chance, a chance to prove that she was a good sister, and that she had made the right decision by refusing to be in Bianca's life.

I appointed myself as her protector. I was the oldest sibling, and I was older than Lil by a couple of months too, so it felt natural. I'd been wary of Will from the beginning, but the very thing that put me off him was the same thing that drew Layla to him. Will was rich, he was cocky, and he knew all the things to say to get what he wanted from someone who hadn't been warned about boys with silver tongues.

She hid her attraction to him well at first, giving him the cold shoulder when he'd try talking to her, telling him she wasn't interested. But, it wasn't long before she agreed to go on a date with him, and then another, and another, until she was completely besotted, and the only time I really saw her was when we were working.

I was happy for her, I wasn't exactly Will's biggest fan, but at first he did make her happy, so I kept my dislike of him to myself. I hoped that when Will left Ibiza to go back to his rich family, and blessed life in London, that the relationship would fizzle out. But, the holiday romance kept going, until she finally told me he had proposed, and that he'd asked her to move to London to live with him. She thought she was marrying her knight in shining armour, but really, Will was just a posh bloke with a couple of baking trays strapped to his chest and a tin bucket on his head.

The night before she left, I told her, "You don't have to do this, Lil, you know that, don't you?"

She'd smiled and rolled her eyes, thinking I was just being typically overprotective me, "I want to, I love him, Rose."

"I know, I'm just... I just hope he's going to look after you," Laughing, I hugged her tightly to hide the tears in my eyes. She was my best friend, and I didn't want anyone to come between us, and I was going to miss her. "If you need anything, my mum is only a tube ride away, and you know Carol will sort any shit out!"

Layla sniffed, making me feel better for knowing that I wasn't the only one who was emotional, "Carol's going to be sick of the sight of me!"

Layla thought Will was too good for her, but really it was the other way around. Once they were married, and the real William came to the surface, she, of course, kept it all to herself. When I'd call, or when I'd be home on a visit, she would paint me a picture of marital perfection. With all the practice she'd had doing the same for her mother, she hid how miserable she really was extremely well. But, once I moved back to London and spent more time with Mr and Mrs French, I saw the truth of what was going on for myself.

At first, I'd try to defend her when he made horrible comments about her weight, or he nastily mocked her when she was feeling comfortable and occasionally slipped into her Liverpudlian accent. However, one day, she asked me to stop.

"I know you're trying to help," she said, glimpses of the Layla that was to come making their first appearance, "but, you're only making it worse for me."

"Has he hurt you?!" I demanded, ready to go to his work and give him a good hiding.

"No! He wouldn't! And I wouldn't ever let him! But..." she shrugged, sadly, staring off into the distance, and probably wondering where she'd gone wrong, "... For my sake, please just ignore him. That's what I do."

It was never said, but it was implied from both of them that if I kept trying to interfere, he was going to make her life miserable until she saw no other choice but to stop being my friend. My heart broke to see her become so jaded and apathetic. Will sucked so much of the joy out of Layla that she'd managed to keep, despite all the things that had happened to her as a child, and it took a long, long time for me to forgive Will for that.

But, with time, and some convincing, I did forgive him. I didn't hate him anymore. I understood from personal experience that coming out was hard, even when you have a loving and understanding family like I did. He'd been told by his mother that he was disgusting, that he was wrong and a disappointment, and that was before his parents found out about him being in love with Terry. Will, in my eyes, had atoned for his sins; he went to therapy to work on his temper (his barbed tongue having been learned behaviour from Verity), he was constantly doing things to make up to Layla for how he'd treated her (especially on, or around, her birthday), and just the way he behaved with us all was so much nicer than it had been. He didn't have to hide the real him, and we were all grateful, because the real, _real_ William French was much better.

Will told me about the meeting with Harry after it had happened, but we agreed that Layla didn't need to know until it was absolutely necessary. I didn't want Harry being around to ruin how happy and settled she was with Joel, with someone who was so... safe.

Not that Joel was boring. He was extremely funny, intelligent, interesting, and even Dee and I could appreciate that he was sexy as hell! But, unlike Will and Harry, he also never gave us any reason to think he was untrustworthy. Joel was honest from the beginning, he told Layla about his twin daughters on their first date, he didn't have any phobia of commitment, and he was mature enough to handle his feelings for her, especially as she continued to work on her issues. The two of them had a great rapport, and together they were adorable.

But then, on their two year anniversary, he proposed, and she turned him down.

My heart dropped when she arrived at Will and Terry's Halloween/Stag party alone. I'd wanted Joel to be the one for her - so much - but I knew it had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with Harry.

Not wanting to spoil the night, the only reason she gave us was, "I was trying to make it work, like if I told myself that he was what I wanted then eventually it would come true." Throwing a shot of Jager down her throat, she added with a grimace (that I wasn't entirely convinced was from the drink), "I just wish he hadn't bloody proposed!"

"I told Harry she'd turn Joel down," Will said to me later in the evening, shouting over the music while we watched Layla dance with Dee.

"Uh... why the fuck would you do that?!" I felt the desire to rip Will's head off his shoulders unfurl itself inside my stomach. I hadn't wanted to do that for a long time, but I was always ready.

"Because I knew she didn't want to marry him," he shrugged, adjusting the mullet wig Layla had insisted both Stags wear. "Harry wants to get back together with her."

"No. Nope. Not gonna happen. Over my dead, fucking, body!"

"So, you won't meet with him then? Hear him out?" Will asked, and I shook my head, stubbornly. "I know you're protecting her," he said, "but we're going to have to tell her about the tour soon. It's bloody amazing that Joel hasn't said anything!"

"I know, but telling her about you working with him is a little different to me meeting with him so he can try to turn her life upside down again."

"He really loves her, Rose, and I think he's done a lot of growing up."

"Will, you didn't see her after." I looked over at my best friend, who was almost close to being as happy as she'd ever been, who I'd sworn to that we were sisters, and I felt torn. Joel was better for her, but Harry was right for her. "I'm sorry, I get that you're trying to right a wrong here, but I can't support this."

I hoped that Will would accept my answer, that he wouldn't see Layla's break up with Joel as a green light for whatever he was planning. Harry had never been the solution to her problems, and he wasn't going to be this time either. If the split with Joel was permanent, she needed time to heal, not have an ex slide back into her life because there was a vacancy.

And yet, somehow, I still found myself tricked into being in a room with Harry. Will had ignored my wishes, ignored Layla's protests that her split with Joel was anything to do with Harry, and ignored that Layla had decided to give her relationship with Joel another go. Worst of all, it was Terry who tricked me into attending the meeting.

I had no interest in what Harry had to say. I'd been the one to break the news to Layla that Harry had cheated on her. Twice. I'd taken over from Terry when she'd almost given herself alcohol poisoning from drinking so much because she'd ended their relationship. I saw my bubbly, fun-loving, incredibly sexy and witty best friend become a shell of her former self. I knew that what she was going through was more than just not being with Harry; it was about him, Will and Terry, our falling out, and the nightmares which plagued her and reminded her of her mother and sister. I knew all of that, but the break up with Harry had been the catalyst for her trauma coming to the surface, and I found it hard to separate him from her pain and anguish.

Knowing that I wouldn't fall for it if Will organised the meeting, it was Terry who asked if I'd meet with him to help plan a birthday party for Will. He'd asked me at their wedding reception, so I'd been merry on champagne and not really thinking straight. I'd thought it romantic that he wanted to plan a surprise for his new husband, but it was me who was in for a surprise.

I knocked on the door of Terry's office and pushed it open, popping my head into the room with an excited grin. Seeing Terry, Will, and Harry, the grin fell, and I pushed the door open so hard it hit the wall with a bang and a reverberating rattle.

"You, and you! You're fucking snakes!" I hissed at the newlyweds, before turning to look at Harry, "If you're here to get Layla back, you're too late, 'cause she's back with Joel!"

Harry turned to Will, wanting confirmation that what I said was true, and I got a warm feeling of satisfaction in my tummy when he looked upset by Will nodding.

Terry suddenly stood up and approached me with caution. In his dulcet, Welsh tone, he said with sincerity, "We're all sorry we had to get you here on false pretences, Rose. Please, just sit and hear us out."

"Of anyone, Tel, I can't believe you're here." Brushing off his attempt to lead me to the one empty chair in the room, I tried to reason with him."You saw her, you found her, after! Why on earth do you think _he_ should ever be in her life again?"

"Rose, he just wants to talk to you," Will interjected, hoping to help his husband's cause, but all it did was remind me that he was in the room and that I wanted to pummel him into the ground.

" _You_ can shut up, you _lied_ to me, you little shit! I fucking told you I didn't want to be in a room with _him,_ " I jabbed my finger in Harry's direction before I childishly moved the seat away, pulling it loudly across the wooden floors to make a point that I didn't want to sit near him. "And just so you know, you'll all be getting a bill for my time."

Harry cleared his throat, and I glared at him, daring him to try and convince me that there was anything he could do to redeem himself. They'd made the wrong decision by lying to me, they'd shot themselves in the foot completely, and there was no way I was going to let them get away with it.

"Rose, I know you don't believe me, but I love her very, very much."

"That's very sweet, Harry, and I'm sure lots of people would fall for it, but I'm telling you now, you're wasting your time." Turning in my seat, I made sure he was looking at me so I could see the knife go in. "Layla is happy, Harry, she's happy without you, and she's happy with a man who loves her, and doesn't cheat on her, and doesn't hide her away like he's ashamed of her."

"I was never ashamed of her," Harry protested with a frown, "I only ever wanted to protect her."

"And Layla's not happy," Will suddenly said, leaning on Terry's desk to steeple his fingers like a supervillain, "she thinks she's happy, but she's not."

I let out a loud guffaw in disbelief, "And since when are you such an expert in her happiness?! Need I remind you of what a shitty job you did as her husband, or can you fill in the blanks yourself?"

"Exactly! I know what she's like when she's kidding herself." Pointing at me, Will demanded, "Are you telling me that Joel makes her happy in the same way Harry did? Can you honestly tell me that? Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll accept it. He'll accept it too, right? Harry?"

I realised then what I hated most about the whole sordid meeting - it was Will's audacity to try and tell me he knew better than I did about Layla's happiness, when he had been responsible for her misery for years. Him being so awful to her didn't make him an authority on whether she was happy or not. And interfering with her love life, by helping Harry worm his way back into her life, was also not a way to make things right between them. The problem was, and I really hated admitting it, Will actually was right. Layla really had been happier with Harry than she was with Joel. But, at the same time, she'd also been sadder.

Refusing to give Will the satisfaction, I turned my focus back to Harry. "What are you even doing here? Didn't you hurt her enough the last time? I've listened to your music, are you doing all this for material? We all know about that tricky second album."

"I just want you to tell me if I have a chance. I..." his words failed under my gaze, and he shrugged, "... I love her, Rose."

"You told her you loved her then fucked someone else. Twice! Forgive me if I don't hold much stock in your brand of 'I love you's, Harry." Suddenly, I felt even angrier than I had when I'd first walked in the room. "And you two! Is this your idea of being a better person? Trying to break up the one relationship Layla has ever had where she is loved and respected, and doesn't have to deal with a man who can't keep his dick in his trousers? Okay! I'll admit it, I think Joel is lovely, but no, he doesn't make her as happy as _him_. But at least she's not terrified she's going to be bullied, insulted, or see him with yet another vapid supermodel!"

Harry spoke up, his voice thick with emotion as tears welled in his eyes, "I want to be with her, I want her in my life, and I want to make her happy. But, if you say she's happy now, then-then I don't want to ruin that."

"Ugh!" My hand twitched, and I had to stop myself from slapping him across the face. I wasn't anywhere close to being convinced that he was worthy of even being in a room with her, let alone in a relationship, and it was starting to feel like he wasn't even trying. His attempts were pathetic, and I was insulted that he thought he could do so little and think I'd let him waltz back into Layla's life.

He threw his hands up in despair, finally showing something other than contrition.

"What do you want from me, Rose? What do you want to hear? That I've thought about her every hour of every day for three years? That I always made sure she got my new number in the hope that one day she'd decide to call? That I keep a picture of her tucked away in my wallet, and the card from the flowers she sent is still in my phone case?" He started to pull out the evidence, placing it down, hard, onto the desk, but I continued to look at him with disinterest, my arms folded across my chest, and just seconds away from looking at my watch and asking if he was done. He wasn't. "I love her, I've loved her for nearly five years. I fucked up, I know I fucked up, and if you say there's absolutely no chance of her ever wanting to be with me again, then I'll accept it, but I will regret what I did for the rest of my life. Fuck it! I'm going to regret ever hurting her even if we grow old and grey together."

He let out a heavy sigh, a sigh which seemed to contain all the pain and fear he'd no doubt been bottling up so his friends and family wouldn't worry about him. There was no wall or mask, just his feelings all laid out bare to someone who wasn't going to pander to his whim. Harry looked me dead in the eye, and let me see the man who was scared I was going to tell him he'd lost his chance.

I saw it, and I saw that he meant every word, but it wasn't enough. Grabbing my handbag, I stood up, "I'm sorry, Harry, but you had your chance, and now she's happy without you. She got over it, and it's about time you did too."

With one last attempt, he got to his feet too, taking a step closer to me. "All I want is the chance to make it better, to spend the rest of my life proving to Layla how much I love her."

There was nothing more I could say. I was protecting my sister, and I could only hope that I was doing the right thing by her. Turning away from him, I gave Will and Terry the finger, and walked out, slamming the door shut behind me.

Dee talked me out of killing Will. I couldn't face Layla, so I called and told her I was feeling unwell, then I drove straight home.

After ranting about what had happened, I was handed a large glass of red wine, and sat down by my love, and we tried to come up with some solution to the Harry problem.

"I just can't believe Will had the balls to lie when I told him I didn't want to hear what Harry had to say! What am I saying?! That's exactly what I'd expect from him! Dickhead."

"Hang about, I thought you said that Terry called you?"

"He did."

"So... why are you only angry with Will?"

"I'm not! I'm angry with all three of them! But," I looked at her and shook my head, "it's always Will. I still don't fully trust that he's doing this for the right reasons."

Dee leaned over and kissed my cheek, "You're a good friend, my angel, but I think you're letting your anger for Will cloud your judgment a little."

I always appreciated Dee's honesty with me, but I couldn't see what she meant. I was angry with Will because he was interfering in Layla's life, trying to score points to prove he wasn't a shitty person anymore. Other than his little outburst at the end, Harry hadn't said a damn thing that proved he'd grown up. I felt like Harry could have said he hadn't changed, and had no plans to change, and Will would have still gone along with it.

"I'm angry at Terry too! He acts like he thinks of her as a daughter, then wants to let the person who damn near destroyed her waltz back in with his pathetic 'I love her' like that's enough!"

"Don't you think that maybe you should focus on why Terry is also helping Harry?" Dee suggested, being far too level headed about the whole thing, and completely taking the wind from my sails.

"Because he's blind when it comes to Will? 'Cause he also feels guilty for sleeping with her husband?"

She nodded that those might be the reasons, but I was getting the creeping feeling that the woman I loved was actually right. I was half in awe of how clever she was, and half pissed off for her knowing me better than I knew myself.

"Okay, so, take your anger at Will and Terry away, and think about Layla in this. Layla has the perfect opportunity to move on from Harry, right? She could marry Joel, they could have a couple of cute kids, maybe they'd grow old together, and she would never know that Harry came to you all, to the people who know her best, who love her the most, and asked you to help him because he still loves her." Dee looked at me to make sure I was following, and I sullenly waved my hand for her to continue while I emptied my glass of its contents. "I completely understand why you're wary of Harry, and why you're still angry with all three of those men after what they did to her! But, will she thank you for keeping it from her? Especially after all the fighting she's done to regain her independence."

Flopping my body onto Dee's lap, I groaned, "You're right! I hate that you're right, but you are."

"Lil at least deserves to know that Harry's working with Will."

I grabbed hold of the hand that stroked my face, and kissed the palm, grateful that I'd found the woman I wanted to marry. Dee was my piece of calm, my biggest supporter, and my voice of reason. She was right, I had to speak to Layla, but first I had to give Harry a better chance to convince me he was worthy of being a part of my sister's life.

 

**2018 - January**

**Harry**

Terry and Will told me not to lose hope, but after Rose had told me I didn't stand a chance, it was hard not to. She hated me, really hated me, and while I understood why, it was still incredibly frustrating to feel like I'd messed up my only chance to be heard by her. I just knew that Layla wouldn't give me the time of day while Rose couldn't even stand to be in the same room as me.

Thankfully, I had my second tour to keep me distracted, and to stop me from going insane. With just me and my band locked away in a rehearsal studio, I could try to block out the nagging voice telling me to just give up on Lil altogether.

Eeryone else had gone to lunch, but Mitch and I stayed behind to work on one of the new songs I'd added to the setlist. I heard the studio door open, but I was so lost in what I was doing, and I thought it was just one of the others coming back early, that I didn't look up from my guitar until I saw a pair of high-heeled shoes on the floor in front of me. Sitting up, I was surprised to see a very stern-looking Rose glaring at me.

"Hello?"

"So," she said, her voice just as stern as her expression, "what's the plan? How do you want my help?"

I glanced at Mitch, and he silently got up and left, leaving Rose and I alone. With her arms folded, and her left foot tapping against the floor, her body language spoke volumes about how she felt being there with me, and how reluctant she was to help.

Setting my guitar down in the spot Mitch had just vacated, I said, "What made you change your mind?"

She rolled her eyes before snippily asking, "Do you want my help, or not?"

"Of course I do! But..." I stood up, afraid that she'd leave, I knew it didn't really matter why Will and Rose were helping me, but she'd been so adamant that I was wasting my time that I wanted to know what had happened to make her reconsider. "Rose, I only want to do this if _you_ think Layla wants to see me. I know you know her better than anybody."

Rose's sigh was heavy and long. She sat down in my seat, crossed her legs, then picked at a small bit of fluff from her skirt and dropped it to the floor, much like I imagined she wanted to do to me. I felt my heart leap to my chest as she picked up my guitar -imagining she was about to smash it into pieces on the floor- but to my complete surprise, she started to idly play ' _From The Dining Table_ '. She wasn't really even paying much attention to what her fingers were doing, just pursed her lips and considered her reply.

I was about to ask how long she'd been playing guitar when she stopped suddenly, and shook her head, "Y'know, you didn't just break her heart, Harry, you completely fucking obliterated it." I nodded, thinking back to how I'd thought Layla felt nothing as she'd listened to me begging on her doorstep, but I now knew how it had made everything so much worse for her. "Layla wants to see you."

Hope swelled in my chest, and I couldn't help but smile at Rose like I was an idiot, "Really? She said that?"

"No, but..." she suddenly pointed to the seat next to her, "can you sit down? You're giving me a sore neck having to look up at you. I've made it a rule never to look up to men."

I let out a laugh, and grabbed the chair so I could sit opposite her. "Do you play often? You're good."

"My dad taught me, before he died, and I'll go through phases where it's all I want to do. I liked this song when I heard it." Shrugging, she then frowned and seemed to be annoyed for chatting with me like I wasn't the bad guy. "Layla knows about Will and Terry working with you. You can thank Joel for that."

"Are they still..."

"Together? No. Poor bastard basically bloody handed her the weapon." Rose shook her head, sadly, "He found out you were the secret client they'd all been working on. He told Layla, and before you know it, he's getting the final boot."

"Is she okay?" I asked, unable to see her sadness as my opportunity.

"She's... she's fine. So, what's the plan? You want me to plan some party, right?"

Allowing her sudden change of subject, I nodded. It was all Will and Terry's idea; they wanted to throw a party for the tour, and that's where Layla and I would meet again. It wasn't strange for them to do, I'd first met her at a party for One Direction, so it seemed fitting that that's where we would hopefully come back together. We agreed that it would be less pressure than just the two of us being in a room alone, and most of all, I liked the idea that we could meet again like it was the first time.

"Okay. Well, I'll help with the party, and I'll get her there, but everything else is entirely on you, and I don't want any part of it." The softness Rose had shown retreated a little, and the serious, protecting friend was back. "You should know, the Layla you'll meet at the party is not the same as the one you knew. The new Lil, she is happier, more confident, and she spares no room for being messed around. I didn't want to help you, but for whatever reason, she loves you. I want her to be with someone who worships her, and loves her, and for who she is the number one priority, she deserves that. If you can't offer her that? Then you should rethink your plans before it's too late."

"I promise, I want to give her all of that, and more. I'm all in, Rose, one hundred percent."

She looked me over, measuring me to decide if I was worthy of the risk. If I could have reached into my chest and handed her my still beating heart as proof, I would have. Instead, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, looked through my photos, found the one I hoped would prove how much I was serious about being with Layla, and held it up for Rose to see.

For a painful few seconds, Rose said nothing. She just coldly stared at the picture, her blue eyes giving no impression of being particularly impressed by the gesture.

"Fine." Standing up and looking down at me, her tone was deadly serious, and left me with no doubt that she was serious when she said, "But Harry, if you break her heart again, I will seriously fucking hurt you. Understood?"

I nodded, quickly, understanding what Gemma had said about Rose being absolutely terrifying. "Understood." She handed me my guitar, then went to leave, but I stopped her. "I just- I want to ask you. Why did Layla forgive Will?"

"For Terry mostly." Rose paused, then she reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. "This is the only advice I'm going to give you, Harry. She forgave Will because he also made the changes he needed to make to become a better person. If you want her to forgive you, you need to do the same thing."

"Did she really think I was ashamed of her?"

"You never did anything to prove that you weren't." With that, she patted my shoulder hard, and left.  


	26. Apply Some Pressure

**2018**

 

**Layla**

"Are you sure you want to go?"

Glancing at Rose as she handed me a glass of champagne, I thanked her then went back to staring at my wardrobe, hoping inspiration would strike. There were plenty of options, I'd even gone out and bought a couple of new things with partying in mind, but nothing felt right. As a result, I'd spent most of the time I should have spent getting ready, in my underwear, with heated rollers in my hair, and getting more and more stressed.

"I'd be okay if I could just find something I wanted to wear!" I whined, pulling out a dress I'd already tried on, and had gone back to dither over three times already. "I wish I'd bought that pur-"

"Bird! You have plenty here!" Rose came to stand next to me, and joined in with my inspection of the rails, "Where's the green dress that made your tits look amazing?"

"It's on the maybe pile on the bed."

"Okay, and then there's the black sheer one that Dee loved?"

"Yeah..." All my clothes were merging into one, patterns and fabrics swirling around my vision like a Disney illustrated nightmare. "Maybe... maybe I should just tell Will I can't go, that I'm sick."

"Are you sure it's just clothes that are making you stressed?" Turning to face me, Rose smirked and wiggled her eyebrows.

"Y'know what, I might just give those dresses another try!"

Purposefully ignoring what she was alluding to, I grabbed both items she'd suggested, and made a run for the bathroom before she could say anything more. She knew it, and I knew it - I was dressing to impress, I just didn't want to discuss why.

•

Rose and I had decided to go into business together at a point when both of us were at a crossroads in our lives. I was coming out of the deep, dark depression that had almost swallowed me whole, I'd started to hate my job and being surrounded by weddings, and I needed to find something of my own that made my life worthwhile. Meanwhile, Rose had moved in with me because of shitty neighbours moving into the flat above hers, her and Dee were going through a rocky patch, and she'd started to realise that she'd gone as high as she could at the place she worked. We were both a little lost, so we began to play around with the idea of beginning our own party planning business.

At first it was just an idea, something fun to dream about while the world seemed to be moving its way forward around us, but then it seemed to gather momentum. We both had the contacts, we both had the experience, and we both had the sheer bloody mindedness that we'd make it a success. There were some reservations, of course. We were already living together, and even though we were as close as close could be, there were still chances that too much time together may lead to a disaster. But, it felt so natural to work together, our relationship had blossomed in a work environment, so even when there were moments where we were exhausted and stressed, we got over it and didn't take anything personally.

'Layla-Rose Events' started off as just Rose and I, in my dining room, bullying our friends and contacts into letting us plan their parties. We did anything from hen parties, birthdays, launches, and everything else in-between. We even did a funeral for someone who had wanted a big party in place of a regular wake, everyone had to change out of the usual mourners garb, put on something bright and glittery, and celebrate that they'd had that person in their life, even if just for a short time. We didn't turn anything down, and took everything as an experience and a chance to learn.

Gradually, our hard work began to pay off, and my dining room was starting to grow too small for our needs. Thankfully, Will and Terry were on hand, and they let us use a couple of their unused offices.

I'd forgiven Terry the day he found me after I kicked Harry out. He'd helped me sober up, stayed with me all night, and looked after me while everything crashed around me. Will took longer, he had had to work a lot harder for my forgiveness. Eventually, after we'd both been to see therapists, and I was starting to piece everything back together, I allowed my ex-husband back into my life. He apologised for everything, and vowed that he was trying to become the better man he knew he could be. It could have been easy to continue to hate him, he would have deserved it, but for my own sake I left everything in the past.

It was also at Will and Terry's that I met Joel.

Joel and I had already known each other for a long time. He'd worked at the company for years, and when I'd still been married to Will, we'd occasionally end up spending a large chunk of the night chatting. But, that had been during the last few times I'd been dragged to a party to play my role as wife, and I'd been so caught up in my drama with Harry that I hadn't paid too much attention to anything about him, other than a vague acknowledgment that he was attractive and pleasant to talk to. Then, with the divorce, and my hating the sight of Will, I didn't see Joel until Rose and I moved into the building.

The connection I had with Joel was so different to the one I had with Harry that it took a stupid amount of time for me to realise there was one. He was warm and helpful when we passed each other in the corridor, and there was even some flirtation, which always managed to brighten my day, but I thought it was purely out of politeness. I was Will's ex-wife, Will was the boss, everyone was falling over themselves to make sure Rose and I felt welcome! And along with everything that had happened with Harry, I was also incredibly focused on my work.

But there was definitely an attraction. It was real, and I'd thought I was never going to feel that way again, I'd thought I was broken forever. Joel gave me some much needed hope.

It was at Will and Terry's Halloween party that I gave in to whatever it was I felt for Joel. Dressed in silly costumes (me a devil, and him a Ghostbuster), I offered to give him a tour of the house I'd once called my home, but we only made it as far as Will's office. Alone, in the dark, with just the muffled sounds of music and party chatter, we kissed.

It was nice to kiss someone again, to feel the soft, wet, warmth of tongues mingling, while hands roamed new territory. I hadn't kissed anyone in a long time, not since Harry, but I'd missed the closeness and the connection. Joel kissed differently to Harry -not bad, just different- and it was hard not to make comparisons between the two. But, I didn't want to think about Harry, I didn't want to think about kissing him, or about the times we'd shared in that house, together. I wanted to think about Joel, and how good he smelled, and how I liked hearing the soft moans he made when I'd lightly bite his bottom lip.

"I don't want anything serious," I whispered. The words slipping out before I could remind myself that we were just having a drunk snog at a party. Giggling with embarrassment, I added, "Sorry, I just... my last relationship, it kind of messed me up a bit."

"Layla, it's fine. I understand." He said, softly, before he kissed me again. He thought I was talking about Will, and I let him. "I really like you, but we can just have some fun together and see where it takes us. Okay?"

Grateful, and wanting to stop myself from telling him a truth I was reluctant to share, I kissed Joel with all of the desire I had for him. He was my new chapter, and even if all we did was have a quick fumble, I was still making progress.

Joel was everything I needed; he was fun, easy-going, and patient. He brought a lot of much needed laughter into my life, and I laughed more in our first month of dating than I had in the entirety of the previous two years. But, he was also incredibly understanding as I continued on with therapy after my breakdown, and gave me space when I needed to be alone, or he was just there when I needed comfort and affection.

We took a slow and steady approach, but it wasn't long before I opened up to him about my life (although, never about Harry), and he became a permanent fixture. He slotted easily into what had become my weird little family, and I began to feel like I was going to spend the rest of my life with him.

"Have you heard it?" Will asked, one day. He'd stopped by the office to ask about a party we were planning for him, but as was his usual habit on slow days, he then hung around with us. It escaped none of us that, at one point, he had been the big bad wolf, the dark cloud who'd come to rain on our parade, but now he was one of us.

"No, what?" I looked up just as Rose threw a pen at his head. "Oh. Harry. No, I haven't any plans to either."

"You should, it's good." Balancing the pen on the bridge of his nose, he swung slowly from side to side in his chair. "Not what you'd expect from an ex-boybander."

My stomach began to knot, tightly. I didn't want to talk about Harry. He had become persona non grata. Will, out of some sort of guilt or fascination, was having trouble with understanding that I had no desire to discuss him. We'd talked about Harry one night, not too long after I'd forgiven Will, and not too long after I'd run into Gemma at one of the first events Rose and I did, and I told him everything short of the gory details. I'd told him that night that it hurt too much to think or talk about Harry, that it was easier to block him out completely, but still, he would insist on giving me updates.

Putting my head back down to try and focus on what I'd been reading, I blinked away the mental images of the man who'd broken my heart. Voice monotone, belying my inner turmoil, I hoped Will would drop the subject before I wheeled him out by force. "Well, he's not what you'd expect from a boyband full stop, is he?"

"Guess not." The three of us were silent for a while, until Will spoke again. "He's performing on Saturday Night Live this week, first solo performance."

"Is he. What a shame, I'll be busy."

"Will. Stop." Rose glared at him with unrestrained hate. She was still working on forgiving him, and relished the moments where she could be mean to him.

"I'm just saying! It's a big deal!" My ex-husband held up his hands in innocence, "I'm sorry, Lil, I'm honestly not trying to upset you. I just thought you'd like to know."

Sighing, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. I knew he wasn't intentionally trying to antagonise me, but he didn't know how even just hearing a mother yell the name 'Harry' at their child as I walked down the street made me flinch. I was constantly torn between wanting to pretend Harry Styles didn't exist, and wanting to know his every move. I chose the first for self-preservation.

"Thank you for telling me, William, I appreciate the update."

Will got the message, but now I couldn't stop thinking about Harry.

On the drive home, I tried to listen to his song, but I couldn't make it much past the opening line without feeling like old wounds were being torn open. The moment I heard his voice, my hand went straight to the stereo to jab my finger at the stop button. I'd spent so long blocking him out, and it had been easy when he hadn't really been doing much, but with his solo career seemingly taking off, it was getting harder and harder to avoid him. At home, I could do nothing but stew in my own thoughts. Rose had moved out, having bought a place with Dee, and Joel was with his twin daughters, celebrating their birthday. I'd been invited, but I'd thought it was nicer for him to enjoy his time with his family instead of worrying if me and his ex-wife were getting along. I had plenty of things I could do to try and distract myself. There was a lot of movement as I prepared to move house, and move the business into our own space since we had outgrown Will and Terry's office. I had lots of packing to do, but the thought of Harry wouldn't leave me alone.

Eventually, I found myself in front of my laptop, looking at florists in New York.  _Saturday Night Live_ wasn't shown in Britain, I wouldn't have to see it, but Will had been right when he'd said it was a big deal, and there was a small, secret, hidden part of me that was proud of Harry's achievements - even if I didn't necessarily want to know about them.

On impulse, and telling myself that it was innocent, I sent a bouquet of baby pink roses to the studio where the show was filmed, just like the ones he had given me on my birthday. I didn't know if the roses would mean anything to him like they did to me, and I didn't put my name on the card, so I imagined they'd get lost in and amongst the other gifts of well wishes, but the gesture at least helped me to get on with my evening. I was able to stop the stream of questions going around my head, at last. The questions of what the rest of his song had sounded like? What his album would sound like? How long was his hair or had he cut it? Was he dating someone? And, had he written about me again, or was I just a blip to him?

There was a part of me that wondered if the flowers would encourage a visit to my door, but as the days passed, and I didn't even get so much as a text message, I imagined the flowers had either been missed, or he had just ignored them.

That was until a couple of months later, the day after Rose and I were in a magazine feature about up and coming female run businesses. I'd walked in, carrying a copy of the article, which I'd had framed, and on my desk was a large vase of baby pink roses.

We'd moved into our new building in Shoreditch, we had double the amount of staff, and we were having to turn down clients because we were so busy, but Rose and I still shared an office. I looked at her for an answer, but she just held up her hands and said she had no idea.

_'Lil,_

_Congratulations, on your deserved success,_

_All my love, forever_

_X'_

That's all the card said, in a scrawl that was unfamiliar, and with no name.

"So," Rose asked, "are they from  _him_?"

Putting my nose to some of the petals, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to remember my thirtieth birthday, and spending it with Harry. It had been the perfect couple of days, ones that had started me on a path to my new life. I'd felt so loved, and so cared for, that I realised that was how Will should have behaved with me, not my then teenage lover. It felt too much of a coincidence that someone else would send those exact flowers to me, especially considering they'd been the kind I sent to him, but I also knew the choice of flower was hardly an odd or rare one.

"Lil?"

"Oh! Sorry, it, uh...it doesn't say who they're from. Just says congratulations."

Rose looked at me, worried, and asked, "Are you okay?"

I forced a smile, unsure if I actually was okay. "Of course! They're probably not from him, and even if they are, it's not a big deal." Picking up the vase, I continued to try and sound breezy, "They're beautiful, though! I'm going to put them in reception, so everyone can appreciate them."

Rose nodded but didn't say anything. The flowers would be a distraction, so it was best for both of us if they weren't in my eyeline. Like my whole philosophy had become for Harry - out of sight, out of mind.

The truth was, it really  _didn't_  matter if they were from Harry or not. I had an amazing boyfriend, who I loved, and who I was thinking of asking to move in with me. Once upon a time, I had foolishly thought that Harry and I were meant to be together, but that had passed the moment I found out he'd slept with the actress. Hindsight gave me clarity, that all we had done was get caught up in the thrill of our relationship. I had needed someone to massage my broken ego after Will had shattered it, and Harry had liked the excitement of being with a married woman, he'd enjoyed the chase.

I loved Harry, I would always love him, but it didn't make sense for us to be together. He was meant to be with someone who was otherworldly beautiful, seven foot tall, and who glided through life. I wasn't that. I had Joel, and he was my future.

But then, on our two year anniversary, Joel proposed.

And I turned him down.

He was everything I could want or need, and I really, truly loved him, but it just didn't feel right. I saw him on one knee, holding aloft a heart-shaped box before opening it to show me the sapphire engagement ring inside. I couldn't say yes. As he told me he loved me, that he'd known I was the one from the moment we met, all I could hear in my ears was a loud rushing.

Panic and fear rose and swelled in my chest, until I finally blurted out, "I can't marry you."

We fought for hours. Joel, understandably, was angry, hurt, and confused. He wanted to know why I didn't want to marry him when things were so perfect between us, when we already lived together, when his daughters would come and stay the weekend. I couldn't bring myself to tell him that I'd been trying for months to find  _those_  feelings for him, and when they hadn't come, I'd just told myself it was because I still wasn't ready after my divorce.

The truth was that the thought of marrying Joel wasn't new. I'd spent the previous couple of months helping Will and Terry plan their wedding, I'd gone to see venues with them, tasted cakes, helped pick out suits, and not once had I been able to really feel like I wanted to get married again. I didn't picture seeing him waiting for me at the altar, I didn't hear our song or picture our first dance, and I didn't get butterflies at the thought of calling him my husband and us growing old and grey together. I wanted to feel that way for him, I loved him, but I felt like that part of me was broken. The proposal confronted me with the fact that I probably still had things to work on, so we broke up.

I missed him terribly, and I constantly questioned if maybe I had made a mistake. He'd moved out straight away, and because we didn't work in the same building anymore, the complete and total separation was unbelievably hard. I didn't want us to be over, but it felt unfair to be with him when I couldn't picture a long term future with him. The way he seemed to vanish from my life also reminded me of my split with Harry, and that made it even worse.

Will and Terry got married on the last day of November, and I couldn't have been any happier for them. They walked down the aisle together, holding hands and grinning from ear to ear, and I'd never seen a couple more grateful and disbelieving that they were finally able to be together as Mr and Mr. They were getting married in a gorgeous stately home that had become a hotel specialising in events, the grounds were sprawling and beautiful, and everything was planned to perfection (even if I do say so myself), but I knew it didn't matter to them, they could have gotten married in a dingy office in the local registry office, and it would have still been just as special.

I cried as they exchanged vows, feeling a little sad that I was watching my ex-husband get remarried while my ex-boyfriend and I had just exchanged a frosty hello before sitting at opposite ends of the room. But mostly, I was so happy that Will had stayed true to his word when it came to being a better person. He was wonderful, and that had meant we could be in each other's lives. When the registrar declared them husband and husband, the whole room erupted into cheers and applause. Nearly everyone who was there had been through the good and the bad times with them, and even if they hadn't, they at least knew what a long time they'd waited to be together.

"Are you all right?" Dee chuckled, sniffing as I passed her a tissue to dab at her eyes carefully. "I never cry at weddings, but I feel really...  _emotional_!"

I watched as she glanced at Rose, a small smile on her lips, and I predicted that I'd be planning another wedding soon. Always the wedding planner, never the bride!

As the day went on, and I found myself sat at the dinner table next to Joel, the atmosphere with him began to thaw. I would have wondered if Rose had something to do with us being sat next to each other had it not been for the fact I knew she did, especially seeing as I'd been the one to lay out the names on the tables the night before, and I'd switched my seat with someone else. To my relief, it wasn't long before we slipped into our old familiarity, his arm sliding onto the back of my chair as Terry and Will gave speeches, and whispering little jokes to me that made me giggle and miss him even more.

We spent the night dancing together, and everything felt like it had before he'd asked me to marry him. I was surrounded by an overwhelming amount of love, and although I was still certain I didn't want to marry him yet, I at least wanted to try again.

"Is this a one night thing?" He'd asked between kisses as I pulled him into my hotel room. "It's fine if it is, but I love you. I hate not being with you."

Pausing my fingers as they worked open his shirt buttons, I looked up into his beautiful, dark-brown eyes and wished I could see myself as his wife. "I'm not saying yes to getting married," I whispered, and brushed my lips over his, feeling his alcohol soaked breath mingle with mine, "but I miss you. Can we just see how things are in the morning?"

Joel had hesitated, but then I'd felt my feet leave the floor as he lifted me up, and carried me to the bed.

When we woke the next morning, hungover and aching from the shapes we'd pulled on and off the dancefloor, we decided to get back together. He had left such a void in my life that I was hopeful we'd be able to make things work. I wasn't settling, I was never going to do that after all I had been through after Harry, but I was willing to put the work in that's sometimes needed to make a relationship.

Joel and I hadn't been back together for long when he asked me as we sat down to eat dinner, "Do you know anything about the secret client Will and Terry are working with?"

I shook my head, and took a mouthful of the curried goat his mother had made for us. There were many, many things I had missed about Joel, and his mother's authentic Jamaican cooking was one of them.

"There are rumours it's Harry Styles." His statement was casual, with no idea of the impact his words would have.

Food heaven became food hell. The good spice became bad, and the burning in my mouth, which had been enjoyable, was now unbearable. Coughing and spluttering, my eyes bagan to stream as I got up from my chair and stumbled from the dining room to the kitchen.

"Are you all right?" Joel followed me, voice laden with concern. "Was it too spicy?"

I poured myself a glass of milk, and drank it down before pouring another.

"No, it's fine," I finally managed. "Rumours? There are thirty people in the whole building, there must be a reason for that rumour."

Joel looked at me with a frown, probably unsure why I was having such a reaction to the mention of some random musician, when there were many who came in for meetings with Will and Terry. Folding his arms across his chest, and setting his legs apart so he was on the defence, he looked like he was readying himself for a possible argument. I didn't want to argue, I wasn't angry with him. I was angry at the thought that my friends had met with Harry, and they hadn't told me. They had kept Harry as a client as a secret because they knew that if Joel mentioned him in front of me, I would probably hit the roof. And they were right.

"What's going on here, Layla? Why are you acting like this?" Joel asked, stony faced.

"Can you, please, just tell me why you think Harry is working with Will and Terry?"

"Fine. Someone saw him in Terry's office the other week, and I saw him a few months ago." He shrugged, "I didn't say anything back then because they were obviously trying to keep it a secret. Can you please tell me why you look like you've seen a fucking ghost?"

Joel stepped forward, but I moved away from his touch. My trust issues were rapidly reawakening, and my paranoia was telling me that Joel knew Harry's name would cause a reaction. The closer he was trying to get to me, the further away I wanted him to be.

"I just... " My brain was racing, but there were no cohesive thoughts other than I had to go find out the truth from my ex-husband and his husband. But, Joel needed an answer, he deserved an answer, I just didn't know if I could tell him about my past with Harry. "Harry and I... uh, we don't get on. It's really complicated, and I'm just pissed off at Will if he's working with him again. At least, I think I'm pissed off."

Joel went to speak again, but I was already making my way to the front door. Following me out into the hallway, he watched as I pulled on my coat and shoved my sockless feet into my boots, "Layla, where are you going? What about dinner?"

"I'm really sorry, I really need to speak to Will. I'll be back in a little while."

"Can I come?"

I looked at him, at Joel, and tried to feel for him the way I had felt about Harry. I loved him, and at the wedding I'd really wanted us to be happy together, but it just wasn't the same. He was kind, caring, incredibly sexy, patient, loving, and was everything I'd dreamed about when I was a child in Liverpool. The problem was that Harry Styles had re-appeared, almost as if to remind me of what I should feel like for someone I shared my bed with. I had no notions that Harry and I would reconcile, I didn't expect we would even see each other, but I at least knew that Joel wasn't the solution either.

I did want to get married again, and I wanted children, I just didn't want that with Joel.

In the end, I didn't go to Will's. I stayed, and ended my relationship with Joel, for good. It was heartbreaking, and harder than the first time around. I'd been angry that he'd proposed the first time, but this time I just felt like I was giving up after trying for so long. I told him the truth, everything apart from Harry's name, and though he was angry I hadn't told him before, I felt that he at least deserved to know the real reason. I only hoped that he would eventually understand that the problem was with me, not with him.

It was an ugly end to what had been a beautiful relationship. Joel had helped me in a way he could never know or understand. I'd lost all faith in love and romance after Will and Harry, and he'd restored that for me, helped me learn to love myself again, and know that I was worth more than I'd been given by my previous relationships. I had never wanted to hurt him, but I had left Will, and kicked Harry out, because I had wanted to live my best life and be true to myself. If I had stayed with Joel, I would have undone everything I'd worked so hard to achieve.

Somehow, I made it into work the following day. Red-eyed, with messy scraped back hair, and without any make-up, I hid away in the office and tried to focus on my work. It was almost Christmas, and the parties were already in full swing. I couldn't take time off.

"Are you going to tell me what happened, yet?" Rose asked, softly, as she placed a hot chocolate with squirty cream and marshmallows on top in front of me.

"Do you know about Harry?"

The look of guilt and panic flitting across her face gave her away, and confirmed what Joel had said was true. I picked up the beverage she'd given me and handed it back, "You can fucking keep that. Traitor."

She put it back down and walked around to sit by her own desk, probably hoping that the cost of new computers would stop me from chucking the drink across both of our desks at her. Logically, I knew she'd kept it from me to protect me, but I was angry, and I was hurt.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I was going to tell you?" I shook my head, and she sighed. "Well, I was. Is that why you broke up with Joel?"

Slumping in my chair, I started to cry. I'd thought I'd cried all the tears I possibly could, but fresh ones rolled down my cheeks. "I don't know. It's not Harry, so much, as what Harry represents."

"I worry that you've just thrown away a chance at happiness because of boy wonder rocking up," Rose said, before grimacing apologetically in case the truth was too harsh.

"I am too. But, I'm not even thinking about Harry, not really. I want to be happy with the right person, the person who makes my tummy flip, the person who feels like coming home, and that's... that's not Joel." Sniffing, I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. "The flowers Harry sent, or I think he sent, they reminded me of how love really feels. It's why I turned Joel down when he proposed. I'd forgotten about that again because I missed Joel so much when we broke up, so him mentioning Harry, it felt like the universe was trying to tell me something. Does that sound stupid?"

My best friend shrugged, which told me she probably thought it was stupid. I knew it sounded pathetic, like I was dropping everything in hope of being with Harry again, but I didn't want to be with anyone for a while. The Harry boat had sailed, and I was okay with that.

"So, you're over for good?"

"Yeah." Nodding, my vision blurred with more tears, hot and burning against my sore, tired skin.

"Have you spoken to Will or Terry?" She said it with the sort of derision that told me she wasn't happy with either of them.

"No. I don't know if I will." Looking down at my hands, I shrugged, "I'm upset they hid it from me, but I know it's probably just business. If Harry can forgive Will, then why should I be a child and demand they don't work with him. I won't be visiting their office any time soon anyway, all things considered, so there's no chance we'll run into each other."

Rose was silent, and I knew her well enough to know there was something she was holding back. I thought about asking what, suspecting that it was likely to be about what an idiot I was for letting Joel go, but I was too drained to argue or hear that I was making a mistake.

We silently went back to work, her stopping only to furiously type on her phone, but I felt there was an atmosphere. I felt like I had when I'd forgiven Harry, and Rose and I had fought. I'd known the minute I'd told her that I was staying at Harry's that she was going to blow when I saw her, and her silence now felt like that. She was angry, or disappointed, or both, and I imagined Dee was getting ranty messages.

"Can I ask you something? Something I want you to answer me honestly," Rose said suddenly. She was staring at me with such force that I half expected laser beams to shoot out of her eyes at me, turning me into dust. Warily, I nodded. "Do you think you're ready to forgive Harry?"

"I forgave him a while ago, if I am being honest."

"So, you could handle seeing him?" Quickly she added, "We have a lot of clients who add him to their guest lists, and we both know he never attends because of you."

I took a long time to answer, weighing the pros and cons in my head. Being okay with him working with Will and Terry was one thing, actually being in the same room as him was another matter entirely. Still so raw from Joel, I didn't particularly relish the idea of pretending Harry was just like any other guest. I was happy in my Harry-free bubble, but maybe it was time to lift the unspoken embargo he and I had imposed on ourselves.

Rose was right, there were plenty of people who added Harry to their guest list, but he had always declined, while I was always prepared to have someone take over should he ever accept. In fact, he had only ever accepted once, not long after I'd started dating Joel, so then I'd had even more of a reason to want to avoid seeing him. 'The H-plan' was put in place; our third-in-command, Vicky, took over, I took the night off, and our clients were thrilled that Harry Styles would be at their event! Except, he was a no show. His friends turned up, but not Harry. When Vicky was relaying how the night had gone, she then mentioned that Harry's friend, Nick Grimshaw, had asked where I was, that he was hoping to see me. I'd had to pretend that he and I were friendly enough that it wasn't strange of him to ask. I'd known it was a test, Harry was testing to see if he was welcome, and he was, but not while I was there.

But, he had forgiven Will -for whatever reason- and maybe it was time I put my forgiveness into action too. It had almost been four years since Harry and I had shared whatever it was that we had, and I was tired of constantly being on edge when I watched the TV, or listened to the radio. Christ! I'd nearly had a meltdown in the cinema when he appeared in a movie trailer for ' _Dunkirk_ '! Not even Tom Hardy in an RAF uniform had been able to make me watch that film, no matter how much everyone told me I should. I'd told them I wasn't a fan of war movies, and changed the subject.

"Honestly?" I said, startling Rose who had gone back to her emails because she'd grown bored of waiting for a reply. "I'm not ready to see him yet, not after Joel. But, give it a month or two, and I'll let him know that he's welcome, if he wants."

Christmas was spent with the Fullertons, with Rose's mum, Carol, making a fuss of all her children, and me. I'd gone to bed the night before feeling sad because I had planned to spend the day with Joel and his family, but I'd woken up to Rose's face inches away from mine before she squealed, "HE'S BEEEEN!"

By mid-afternoon, I was drunk, and so full from an amazing Christmas dinner that every time I laughed -of which I was doing plenty- I was genuinely worried I was going to burst. I enjoyed playing board games with my adopted family. I'd wanted a day that was worry free and fun, and that's exactly what I had, surrounded by people who I loved, and who loved me.

New Year's Eve was less fun, and I spent it fifth-wheeling with Rose, Dee, Will and Terry. It had never been my favourite part of the year, looking back at all the things I'd lost or failed at, scared of what the coming year would bring. But, it felt so much worse when I was a little drunk, was nobody's first kiss of the year, and I had the horrible feeling that I was back at square one.

Thankfully, as January progressed, and the holidays were left behind with New Year's resolutions and the promise to use that gym membership, I began to feel only good things about being single again. I was free to do whatever I wanted! I didn't have to worry if work overran and I was late for date night, I didn't have to share the remote control, or freeze for half the night because someone had hogged the bed covers. I missed having someone there after a long day, and I missed Joel, but, unlike previous relationships, I didn't feel like it was the end of the world because there wasn't a man to look after me. I was a strong independent woman who didn't need a man, and I was proud of myself for being that way!

Early February, Will mentioned that he was throwing a party. My first thought was that he wanted Layla-Rose to plan it, but he surprised me by saying it was already taken care of. That's when I started to grow suspicious.

He knew that I knew that Harry was a client, but I had never spoken to him or Terry about it. As long as they weren't trying to play matchmaker, I was fine, but it had been nearly two months since I'd told Rose that I was almost ready to be in a room with Harry, and suddenly I was being invited to a party for a "new client". The jig was up.

"I'm not coming," I told him, purely out of stubborness, and not because I was so against seeing Harry, "you can't make me."

Will showed signs of his old self as he said, flatly, "Rose has already told me you're free that night. No excuses. You're coming."

"Excuse me?"

I bristled at my ex-husband's assumption that he could tell me what to do, but he was quick to rephrase his words so I wouldn't kick him out of my house for good. "I'm sorry. I would really like it if you came to the party. Rose and Dee are coming, so it wouldn't be the same without you there, too."

"And Harry?" I asked, tartly. "I'm assuming he'll be there also?"

Will let out a laugh, one that was tinged with a little guilt over his underhandedness. "Yes. Harry will be there too."

"Does he want me there? And what about Joel? I can't handle a party with three of my exes in the room, two'll be bad enough."

We shared a chuckle because none of our relationships were simple; his close circle of friends consisted of his new husband and his ex-wife.

"Joel won't be there, he'll be away on a business trip-"

Wryly, I interrupted, "Convenient."

"It's best for everyone involved. Harry wasn't really keen on meeting him, as you can imagine." Will took my hand in his, and kissed the back of it in a gesture that was reassuring me he wasn't playing games and he was on my side. "He really wants you there, Lil. But, if you tell me that you're not interested, or that you're not ready, then I will honestly understand."

Sighing heavily, I rolled my eyes, "Fine, I'll be there." His face split into an enormous grin, but I quickly set my conditions, "But! I will leave whenever I want, and if there's even a hint of shenanigans, I'm gonna kick your arse. Right?"

"Anything you want, my dear!" Standing up, he leant down and kissed my cheek and mumbled into my ear, "I love you, and I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, Lil. I promise, you have nothing to worry about."

But, worry I did, and the next morning I made a beeline for my office. I practically kicked the door open, and pointed at a half asleep Rose like I was an angry wrestler challenging her to a fight.

"Did you tell Will I wanted to see Harry!" I said with twitching eyes and a growl, the forgoing of my usual morning hot chocolate helping my 'Macho Man' Randy Savage impersonation wonderfully.

For a moment she stared at me, probably confused and unsure if she should laugh or run for cover. I watched as she tried to work out if it was a trick or not then collapsed her upper body against her desk in defeat.

"I'm sorry!" She groaned, peeking at me over the crook of her elbow. "Do you hate me?"

I was still working out if I was angry or not. Annoyed, confused, and a bit baffled - yes. But angry my friends, who had seen me hit the rockiest of rock bottoms as a result of my relationship with Harry, had been conspiring to get me in a room with him? I didn't know. The whole thing was making my trust issues tingle, and I felt a huge amount of guilt over Joel, but I believed Will when he told me he wasn't going to be a part of anything that would hurt me, and I knew Rose would have fought against any plan to help Harry if she thought for a second he wasn't worthy of my time.

"The jury's still out. So, come on, tell me why I'm required there. I'm having some serious deja-vu of being used by Will to entertain a certain Mr Styles." I scoffed and sat down at my desk, "Somehow, I don't think it's going to go so well this time."

Rose held up her hand and shook her head, "Nope! I've made it clear that I don't want to know anything, my involvement starts and ends at getting you there, that's it! I did kick up a fuss, but Dee reminded me that you're a big girl and you can make your own decisions."

Turning to my computer, I typed Harry's name into the search engine and clicked on images. He had just turned twenty-four, and I didn't really recognise him as the person I'd once loved with my whole heart. His hair was short again, looking not too dissimilar to how it looked when we met, but that's where the similarities seemed to end. His face had matured, his stage style was high fashion, and he seemed a lot more serious. I would be turning thirty-five in September, it was hard to imagine he thought of me as anything but a mistake he'd made when he was younger.

I put my head in my hand and whined, "Oh, fuck! I bet he hates me. What am I even going to say to him? Actually, don't answer that, you're the last person I should talk to about him. I know you hate him."

Rose frowned, "I don't hate him, Lil. I hate what he did, but I don't hate him. Like I said, my knowledge of what's going on is minimal, but I do know he wants you there. He misses you as much as you miss him."

"I don't mi-"

"Don't bother, mate!" She interrupted, her contrition seemingly having been forgotten quickly. "If you're adamant you don't want to go then don't, but I actually think you should go and hear Harry out."

"Why do I feel like you actually know more than you're letting on?"

Giving me a noncommittal shrug, she smiled, "neither of you are the same person. Just...hear him out."


	27. Hang On To The Night

My knees were like jelly as Rose and I walked into the bar the party was being held at. It was a fair sized venue with a split level, lots of floor to ceiling windows, and soft, twinkly lighting. There were already a lot of guests, but quickly scanning around the room, I saw no sight of Harry. Terry however was close to the door, chatting away enthusiastically to a small gathering of people. Upon seeing Rose and I, he quickly excused himself and came over to greet us warmly.

He gave us both a kiss on the cheek, then hugged me bone-crushingly tight before looking at me with an odd mix of concerned excitement, "Are you okay?"

"I will be once the bones mend, Tel," I joked, pretending his grip had broken me. "I'm fine. Where's your worst half?"

"Hey now, enough of that! But, you know what he's like, schmoozing with our guests," Terry smiled, pointing Will out as he moved through the crowd. He was in his element as he laughed and said hello to everyone, and I was oddly glad to see that even the love of Will’s life was abandoned at business parties too. "Go get yourselves some drinks, and I'll let him know you're here."

I was already a little tipsy from the drink I'd consumed whilst getting ready, but in need of further refreshment, Rose and I did as we were told and headed to the bar.

Navigating our way through clusters of people, there were a few faces I hadn't seen in years, people I'd attended lots of other parties with when my only joy in life was the contents of a wine bottle. They smiled as I passed, no doubt wondering how I could be at a party hosted by my ex-husband and his new husband.

It all seemed a lifetime ago, everything was so different. It had been five years since I'd met Harry at one of those dull parties, and in those five years nothing had stayed the same. Will was married to Terry, Rose and Dee were talking about looking into adoption, and I was a thirty-something divorcee businesswoman who lived alone with her cat. And I was happy. Really happy. My life wasn't perfect, but I was in control of it, and that gave me an immense amount of joy. I hadn't been happy when I met Harry, I had told myself I was, but it had all been a lie. This time it wouldn’t be.

At the bar, we ordered drinks, and I took a moment to calm myself down. I could feel myself growing warm as realisation kicked in of what was possibly about to happen.

"I never thought I'd have to come to another one of Will's boring work parties again," Rose laughed, handing me my drink and distracting me from what could have been the beginnings of a meltdown. "why did I think this one would be fun?"

"Because you planned it. And be thankful you only ever came to a handful, I feel like I'm in a recurring nightmare!" I started to chuckle, seeing a pun and going for it. “Maybe you were just remembering them with... Rose-tinted spectacles. Thank you! Thank you! I’ll be here all night!"

She reluctantly laughed and rolled her eyes, before clinking her glass against mine in a toast. Suddenly, I felt my blood run cold as a hand touched the bare skin on my back, but to my relief, I turned to see Will grinning back at me.

He looked dapper in his dark blue suit, his paisley pocket square matched Terry's, and his white shirt was open at the collar. He held a glass of whiskey in his hand, and as he always seemed to, looked incredibly happy.

"I'm so happy you're both here." He beamed, hugging me then turning to hug Rose, "Lil, you look absolutely gorgeous! As do you Miss Fullerton."

"Are you drunk already, Will?" Rose teased, and they both laughed when he shrugged before taking a long sip of his drink.

"No, no, in all seriousness! I'm in a good mood! My husband is here, and two of the women I love the most are here." His smile was infectious, and we found ourselves joining in. "Where's my third? Where's Dee?"

"She's coming, she just got stuck at work."

"Well, I'm still pissed off at you for trying to trick me!" I frowned, jabbing him in the arm.

"I know, I am sorry, I really am. But, he really wants to see you, and I think you're both two very different people now." Will touched my arm gently, "he misses you just as much as you miss him."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Rose spoke for me.

"Don't bother, I said the exact same thing and apparently 'she doesn't miss him.'" She mimicked, rolling her eyes at Will who in turn rolled his eyes back.

I zoned out as they chatted amongst themselves about how it was glaringly obvious I missed Harry. Letting my mind wander to assess the situation, I blocked them out. There was a chance I would be about to see and talk to Harry so I couldn't help but feel like this was the calm before that storm. Anything could be about to happen, and the apprehension was starting to drive me crazy. I also hated that I wasn't in control of what was happening because both Will and Terry were playing just as coy as Rose had when I asked what Harry wanted with me.

Looking down, I checked my outfit, and wondered for the seventh time since leaving the house if I'd chosen the right thing. I’d gone for the black dress, it was knee-length, fitted at the waist, with the top half mostly sheer and open at the back. It was sexy and understated, and I felt good. But the minute I'd got into the car, I'd thought of a thousand other things I would have rather worn.

"Layla!" Rose scolded, my head snapping back up to meet her amused smile. "Will you stop? You look incredible."

"Are you sure?" I grimaced, adjusting the front to make sure there was no accidental nip-slip.  

"Oh!" Will said suddenly, "Our guest of honour has arrived!"

Turning my head to where he was looking, everything seemed to stop. Harry, surrounded by a small group of people, was stood by the entrance saying hello to Terry. His smile was wide and toothy, he was dressed simply in a black suit and a white shirt (a look that never failed to make me giddy), and his hair was short and naturally styled.

"Who are those other people?" I heard Rose ask, "Does Harry need an entourage now?"

"The guy talking to Tel is his manager, Jeff, and the rest are his band."

"Harry has girls in his band? Go Harry!" She laughed but I could tell that she was actually a little impressed.

"Are you ok, Lil?" Will asked as I turned my back to Harry and leant against the bar.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, not entirely convincing him or Rose.

My first instinct was to run, to save my heart and not get my hopes up. I knew it was highly unlikely there would still be anything between us, but my thoughts had enjoyed running away with themselves and imagining what would happen if we tried again. I didn't want the pain, I didn't want to become the weak person I had been for him before, but I couldn't deny that seeing him again had jumpstarted the butterflies that had long since lain dormant, and I had wanted to feel so badly with Joel. I'd blocked Harry out to protect my heart because I loved him so much, but everything was rushing to the surface and overwhelming me.

Will excused himself, leaving Rose to whisper soothing words to me. Despite managing to pose ourselves as nonchalant, I knew that she was just as terrified as I was.

"What if he ignores me?" I whined, casually looking to see where he'd gone, and feeling my stomach lurch when I couldn’t see him.

I internally sighed with relief when I saw him still on the other side of the room, this time talking to Will. I had never thought I’d see a day where I was glad to see my ex-lover talking to my ex-husband.

"Then he ignores you, and you finally start moving on." I frowned at Rose's advice, but she shrugged. "Intentionally or not, you held your relationship with Joel up to his standards, so if he ignores you then maybe you'll realise he wasn't as amazing as you remember."

"You're supposed to be calming me down, not winding me up!" Changing the subject,in the hope it would ease my anxiety, I asked, "What time is Dee getting here?"

"She said she'd be here for nine. She must be running late." Rose pulled out her phone with a frown before she smiled the smile that Dee's arrival always brought out. "Ah! She's just outside.”

We both turned our heads in the direction of the door to see if we could spot her walk in, but my attention was caught once again by Will and Harry talking. Terry had joined them, and along with Will, looked very serious as they both nodded along to whatever Harry was saying. I was curious about what they were discussing, even wondered if maybe I was the topic of conversation. As if to confirm I was right, I saw Terry say something, and Harry's gaze swept the room until it landed on me. Except, he wasn't looking at me.

For a split second, I thought that maybe he just hadn't registered he was looking at me, there was no smile, no acknowledgment of my being in the same room as him, there was nothing. And as he continued to look in my direction, I felt doubt trickle through until I finally admitted that he was just looking straight through me as though I wasn't even there.

It was the embarrassment that made me look away. My cheeks burning as I was reminded of the nightmares he'd appeared in where he looked at me with a similar coldness.

Rose must have missed what happened because she tapped my arm happily, having spotted Dee. Seeing my chance to sneak off, I finished my drink and looked around to see where the toilets were.

"I'm just going to the ladies, you wait here for Dee and I'll be back."

"Are you sure?" She asked, looking panicked that she'd be failing in her role in the apparent plan of keeping tabs on me at all times so that I didn't bolt for the door.

Reassuring her I'd be fine, I weaved my way through the crowd in the direction of the toilets.

In the safety of a cubicle, I flailed my arms and opened my mouth to silently scream out the build up of emotions I'd been holding back. Rose had been right to worry about me doing a runner, because the option sounded incredibly appealing. I could sneak off, and would never have to see Harry ever again. The one thing stopping me was that, deep deep down, I wanted very much to see Harry. I was just scared of what would happen when I did. If he was polite and friendly but nothing more, then I would be disappointed he didn't still feel the same as I did. But, if the spark was still there, the one which had made me lose all sense and cheat on my husband, then I ran the risk of getting my heart broken again.

I left the cubicle to retouch my makeup, still unsure if I would face my fears or run for the hills. The door opened as I pressed powder to my nose, and one of the women I recognised as being part of Harry's band walked in, followed quickly by Dee. I smiled at both of them and hoped my friend didn't ask how things were going.

"Heyyy! How are things going? Have you spoken to Harry yet?" She asked as soon as she saw me. "Rose said he's here, she also said to make sure you haven't climbed out of the window."

I groaned internally and shook my head, eyes wide and pleading for her to stop talking. Looking in the mirror, I saw his bandmate turn her head to look at me briefly before walking into the cubicle I had just left.

Once the door closed, I glared at Dee, and she mouthed her apology to me.

"Is Rose still at the bar?" Popping my compact back into my clutch, I gave myself a final once over and took a determined deep breath. “Or would you like me to wait for you?”

"No! You go, I’ll only be a sec. And yes, although she said she was maybe going to find Terry because she was annoyed we both abandoned her." Dee smiled, fondly. If I didn’t love them and want them to get married and have babies, the unbridled affection they had for each other would have made me sick.

"Okay! I will find her, I'm sure. I'll see you in a minute."

Walking out into the bar, I headed to where Rose and I had been, hoping she hadn't moved yet. I had just spotted her ahead of me, looking grumpily at her phone, when I felt a warm palm touch the bare skin on my back. The contact was like a surge of electricity through my entire body and soul. I turned to look at who had stopped me, hoping to see Will drunkenly beaming at me again. Instead, I came face to face with the very tall, very stylish, and definitely well matured, twenty-four year old Harry Styles.

He extended the hand he'd touched me with for me to take, and smiled a very charming, lopsided smile. We looked at each other, and then I heard him speak for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Hi," he said, "I'm Harry."


	28. Slow

I smiled at Harry and shook his hand, playing along. "Hello, Harry, I'm Layla."

He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, his aftershave filling me with so many memories that my heart started to race. As he held onto my hand, his lips lingered on my skin, and our bodies stayed close. Having him so near to me was equally familiar and overwhelming, so I pulled away first and waited for him to say something.

"Layla." Hearing my name coming from his mouth made my stomach churn, the 'a' at the end coming out as an 'uh' and somehow sounding like the sweetest music. "It's very nice to meet you, Layla."

He kept his hand on my arm as he turned to the bar and ordered us both a drink without asking if I needed one.

I took the opportunity to admire him up close and remember all the little details about him that I'd loved; the pouting curve of his lips as he spoke, their pinkness making them look doubly kissable, his dimples appeared when he smiled at the barmaid, polite and sweet to everyone as always. The soft start of curls, loose waves that were just on the cusp of starting to form in his naturally curly hair. A jawline that had somehow grown sharper and even more defined, which I hadn’t thought possible. His suit was black, but it also had a subtle embroidered brocade pattern, and the shirt he wore -like Will's- was white and unbuttoned so that when he faced me again, I caught glimpses of the swallow tattoos I loved so much. Harry, I knew, had always had an incredible amount of money and influence, but he now dressed like it.

Handing me my drink, he placed his lips on the rim of his glass, and took his own chance to look me over. Green eyes sparkling, he lowered his gaze to my feet and slowly worked his way back up. He was so unsubtle, I almost offered to give him a twirl so he could see me better, but before I had the chance, he swallowed his drink and spoke.

"Will suggested I should find you and say hello." I turned to look for my ex-husband at the mention of his name and saw him, Terry, Dee, and Rose, watching intently before they looked off in different directions. Smiling at the farcical situation, Harry’s voice caused me to look at him again. "But, I should go socialise with everyone else too. I think he also wants to give some sort of speech."

"Of course he does," I said, beginning to wonder if Harry’s reintroduction was genuinely because he had forgotten me, or because he wanted to make me feel insignificant. I laughed awkwardly, "Okay then, well, I guess I might talk to you later."

Nodding, he made a move to walk away, and I looked to where my friends were still gathered. I'd gotten my hopes up that the conversation we would have would be deeper, not like we were complete strangers. Maybe, he did hate me after all, and had wanted to use the opportunity to show me how little I ever meant to him - the ultimate 'I'm better off without you'. Would there ever be a greater regret than the girl who let Harry Styles slip through her fingers?

I accepted that maybe Rose was right, this was my chance to move on and forget Harry, it had been nice at the time, but it was done and had been for years.

Just as I was about to go join my friends, and have them help me drown my sorrows, Harry’s hand was back. Placing it between my shoulder blades, he brushed his thumb softly in a circular motion that was dangerously close to making me shiver involuntarily.

Once again, his scent filled my senses, and his breath was warm on my ear as he whispered, "I'm going to come find you later. Please don't leave."

Turning my head to look at him, our faces were inches apart as I nodded in understanding. His gaze dropped to my mouth, and I held my breath when he tilted his head slightly as though he was going to kiss me. It took everything in me not to press my lips to his as I felt his fingers slowly trail their way down my spine, coming to a rest just above my behind, save for a wandering pinky. Neither of us made any effort to move away, and I was reminded of the very first night he'd nearly kissed me, hidden away in a nightclub. This time we weren't hidden, we were surrounded by people who were probably watching with curiosity.  

"You'll stay?" He muttered, lips close enough that I could almost feel them brush against mine as he spoke.

"Yes." I whispered, scared that if I tried to answer any louder I'd end up shouting in his face.

"Good." Smiling, he widened the space between us and looked me up and down again, with an expression I knew very well from him, usually seeing it moments before he fucked me senseless.

And with that, he walked away, disappearing through the crowd.

Legs shaking, I went in the opposite direction, walking to where my friends were stood. I could see roughly four hundred questions waiting to explode from them, but for the moment I just needed to be talked down from the ceiling. Because, for all the intensity in that moment, I was tempted to go home. Just say my goodbyes, and leave Harry behind once and for all. He'd asked me to stay, but I wasn't sure any good would come from doing that. I'd come a long way from the Layla he knew, but even just being in his presence, I was already pathetic. I had such a deep rooted fear of losing myself again, I wanted to block out the one person who made me weak.

"You don't look like that went very well." Terry pulled me close to his side and kissed the top of my head, "are you okay?"

I shrugged and pointed to his glass, "Is that Scotch?"

"Brandy."

"Even better." Taking it from his hand, I took a large mouthful and closed my eyes, enjoying the burn of the liquid as it travelled its way down to my stomach, "I needed that."

Terry signalled for me to finish the glass, and I happily complied. I wasn't usually a hard liquor drinker, but I needed something strong to help me wake up and stop being so... Old Layla!

"What did he say? He wasn't with you very long." Rose looked ready to fight if she needed to.

"He acted at first like he didn't know me." They collectively frowned and looked furious."No not like that! He was nice, but he introduced himself to me exactly like the first night we met."

I shrugged and looked around the room, finding Harry talking with his manager, Jeff, and Hamid, one of the set designers. They were laughing at something when Harry suddenly looked in my direction. My head whipped back around to my own conversation, my palms growing hot with nerves, and I hoped he didn't think I was staring at him.

"Maybe, he's trying to start from the beginning?" Dee suggested. "A blank page in a new book."

"And I think you need to stop over thinking." Rose said, and I nodded in agreement, though we all knew that was easier said than done.

I mulled her words over in silence for a moment. If I was completely sure I wanted Harry back in my life, it would have happened before, or I'd have known the moment I saw him, but I didn't. Rose was right, there was no point fretting and trying to chase something, especially if I didn't even know if I wanted it.

As predicted, Will gathered everyone around so he could make a speech. Terry, Harry, and Harry's band stood with him at the top of the small set of stairs, which led down to the main area of the bar where most of the guests were stood. Rose, Dee, and I set ourselves up nearby, having not been quick enough to make a getaway to the bar. So, instead we turned into school children at assembly, stifling giggles and avoiding each other's eye in case full on hysterical laughter broke free while my ex-husband waffled on.

He started by thanking everyone for coming, and thanking the venue for the use of their venue and for their wonderful staff. We all clapped, and I had to turn away from Rose as she whooped loudly, and Dee cheered. I didn't know if it was the brandy or the stress of the evening, but I suddenly found everything extremely amusing.

When we all settled down, Will continued.

"As many of you here have, I've known Harry since he was eighteen," he said, turning to smile at Harry with a look that surprised me - it was a look of pride. "Working with him and One Direction was a life changing experience for me personally, and for this company. We held a party like this five years ago to this very day, and in that time, I've watched Harry grow into the wonderful, talented, kind, and generous artist we're proud to be working with again today. Terry and I were overjoyed…"

Five years to the day. I hadn't even realised. Had that been intentional on Harry and Will's part? I wasn't sure, but it just seemed to be too much of a coincidence that Harry had come back into my life on the anniversary of us meeting.

Dee leaned over to whisper in my ear, "He won't stop looking at you."

Shifting my attention to Harry, it was like the cliché in every book and every movie. Our eyes met across the room, and all of a sudden it was like there was nobody else but us two there. There was a soft pink glow around my vision, I couldn't hear what Will was saying, and I half expected Harry's hair to start blowing softly from a wind machine, all while 'Dream Weaver' soundtracked the moment.

We smiled at each other, and I rolled my eyes at Will still talking, making Harry look down to hide his laughter. He lifted his head back up, and we continued to exchange looks and smiles, occasionally trying to focus on what was being said by my ex-husband who had nothing but praise for Harry. All I could really think about was that I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed making him smile.

"… this tour is sure to be as successful as his last one, and I know Terry is extremely excited to have created the kind of thing he'd dreamt about doing with my father before the technology existed. I can say with absolute certainty that everybody here is incredibly proud of you, Harry, both as an artist who is perfecting his craft, and as a person."

I watched as Will and Harry hugged, two men who'd gone from friends to enemies, back to friends again. It was strange to realise that the last time the three of us had been in a room together, Will had punched him. If nothing else came from the night, at least that wrong had been righted.

Harry spoke briefly, echoing Will's thanks and appreciation, and saying he was looking forward to the tour. I liked hearing him talk, the depth of his tone and the warmth of his accent somehow managing to be both soothing and arousing.

"All right!" Terry said loudly once the room had applauded Harry. "Enough chatter, enjoy yourselves, and don't forget some of you have work in the morning!"

He playfully shook his head as a loud cheer went up - whoops and whistles of relief that the speeches were over and they could all go back to drinking. There would be a lot of sore heads in Will and Terry's office the next morning, including their own.

The crowd dispersed, but we stayed where we were. Rose had set herself up on a stool, and I was about to give her a big I-told-you-so for choosing to wear fresh out of the box heels when Dee coughed, "Incoming!"

I had already spotted Harry heading in our direction out of the corner of my eye, but had planned on playing it casual.

"Subtle."

Harry's hand was on my back again, a soft, warm touch as he passed by. He wasn't coming to talk to me, I was merely a stop en route to his destination. His touch had been a routine act, something one does when passing behind someone so they know to not suddenly step back. Except he was so close as he politely said 'excuse me' that I could feel the buttons on the front of his shirt brush against my skin, and his words tickled the nape of my neck. It was an uneventful moment, mundane and of no consequence to anyone who didn't know our history. But, glancing back at me, fingertips lingering to the very last second as he walked away, Harry's smile confirmed what I already knew - the spark between us was very much still there.

I just had to remind myself that at the end of the day, a spark didn't mean a thing. Harry and I had had a spark last time, but we'd both ended up getting our hearts broken. Getting my hopes up, thinking that he would even want to be with me again, was only setting myself up for a fall.


	29. Never Forget You

It was getting late, and I was getting drunk. I hadn't intended to, I didn't really even drink that much anymore. As I travelled further into my thirties, I'd realised that being blottoed wasn't as fun as it had been in my twenties, and also wasn't worth the hangover because they had started to last for two days. But, it began to feel like Harry had forgotten all about me, so why not drown my sorrows before moving on? Rose and Dee had also seemingly forgotten that they had work in the morning and were drunker than I was.

"Shots!" Rose yelled, grabbing hold of Dee's hand and waving it in the air as though there wasn't still a lemon wedge from the last shot in her other hand. "Lil! Another shot, yeah? It'll help you calm down a little for when he-who-must-not-be-named decides to grace you with his presence."

She waved the half sucked lemon piece in my front of my face, making a long, drawn out 'ooooh!' noise as she did so. I'd already had a glass of brandy, far too much wine, and the previous tequila shot had made me gag, but she wasn't entirely wrong about still needing to calm down.

"Fine!" I groaned, grimacing at the thought of possibly spending the following morning with my head down the toilet.

The two she-devils that were my best friends let out a cheer of victory at having worn me down, and not for the first time, I noted that they were perfect for each other (or as bad as each other, depending on whose side you were on). They started to lead me towards the bar, just a chant short of making me feel like a sacrificial lamb. Suddenly, I started to feel extremely hot, and the prospect of more liquor made the room seem a lot warmer than it had done a moment previously.

Not wanting to make a fool of myself by vomiting everywhere, I said, "I'm actually feeling a bit warm, I'm going to go get some air, but I'll join you in a minute." Rose looked at me skeptically, but seeing my flushed cheeks, she didn't protest or contradict my reason for possibly bailing on her. "I won't be long, just please don't get me anymore tequila, you know that stuff makes me ill!"

"Sure, sure!" Dionne cackled mischievously. "No more tequila."

"I hate you both." Shaking my head, we parted ways at the bar, and I knew full well that when I next saw them, they'd be armed with salt and lemon.

Outside in the bar's beer garden, I was hit by the change in temperature immediately. It had turned so cold, there were patches of frost on the concrete floor, and I could see my breath as it left my mouth in a fog. Despite half the trees in London having burst with blossom, there'd been reports that snow was possibly on the way, and from the increasing numbness in my legs, it wouldn't have surprised me.

I had expected to find the outside area heaving with resilient smokers, but to my relief I was alone. Pulling my coat tightly around me, I leant against the wall and inhaled a lungful of ice-cold air. Being alone for only a moment was enough to begin to make me feel better. My mind was frazzled, and I wasn't convinced alcohol was the answer, so the chilly air was welcomed. The night was going better than I'd expected, and I was even having fun! I'd been far too busy to let my hair down over the previous months, so it was a welcome change. But, while I was happy to let loose, I was also all too aware that, at any moment, it would all go horribly wrong. Nobody needed to see me drunk crying over my sort-of-never-was ex-boyfriend.

Pulling out my phone, I half expected to see a new message from the number I'd saved with only a red cross instead of a name. For some unknown reason, I was always sent his new number when he changed it, and though I knew it was probably an assistant or PA who'd pressed mass send to a list of people they'd been given, I always found it strange that I was never taken off the list. I was always tempted to delete it, worried I would have too much to drink one night and do a drunk dial, but it was strangely comforting knowing he was always just a phone call away, and if I ever really needed to, I could reach him. It was also handy to know that if he ever tried to call me, I wouldn't answer unknowingly.

However, the only messages I had were from Dee in our group chat saying she was nearby, and a bunch of work emails. I brushed away the disappointment, and replied to some of the emails, finding that focusing on work helped me calm down a little.

The sound of music and chatter suddenly becoming louder made me look towards the opening doors. Harry appeared, and I felt a rush of mixed emotions that included relief that it wasn't Rose and Dee coming to terrorise me with alcohol. Smiling when he saw me, he stepped out to join me in the cold and closed the door behind him.

"Hello," I said, straightening up and putting my phone away.

"Hi. Aren't you cold?" Walking towards me slowly, and looking like the movie star he was, he came to a stop only when the front of his Gucci boots met the front point of my black (Primark) high heels.

"A little, but I needed some air so it's quite nice. What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you," he said, his face so close to mine that I could smell the drink on his breath mixing with his cologne. It was endearing to know that he still paid no attention to a little thing called personal space. "Rose said you were out here. Will's parties are still really boring, huh?"

The tension broke, and we both laughed, his smile still as captivating as it had ever been, and his laugh the sweetest. Tilting my head back to look at him properly, making real eye contact for the first time, I knew I was in trouble. Everything about Harry seemed sharper and bigger, the soft cheeks he'd had when we first met were now strong and defined, and his shoulders were broader. Was he taller? I couldn't be sure, but I felt smaller in front of him than I had done in the past.

"I don't know how he manages to do it! Not even Rose could save him!" I chuckled, impulsively touching his cheek with my index finger, stroking his skin lightly. He leaned into my touch for a second before I pulled it away. "You look good, Mr Styles."

"And you look beautiful, Miss James." Blushing, I looked down at the floor so he couldn't see my face turning red. "Success looks good on you."

Looking back at him, I remembered the roses he'd sent. Subconsciously, they'd set a ball rolling in my head that made me realise Joel and I weren't meant to be, that I was papering over the cracks like I had done with Will. For all the bad times and the heartache, I had accepted that my affair with Harry was meant to be. It had been wrong, and not something I was proud of, but it had made me aware of my self-worth, and had led me to the life I now had. Harry didn't know it, but the roses he'd sent had probably saved me from making the same mistake again.

So, as a thank you, I lied right to his face.

"Thank you! Oh! And of course, congrats to you! I watched the war movie you did, it was really, really great." I lied, and he thanked me for it. He didn't need to know that really his name and anything to do with him had pretty much been blacklisted from my life.

All of a sudden, I couldn't handle the small talk, or not mentioning the elephant in the room. There was still something there between us, but we were both acting and talking like we hadn't once been madly in love with each other.

"Harry, I-"

"Not tonight, Lil," he interrupted, looking at me pleadingly, "just... not tonight."

Hearing that name in his mouth, I felt tears spring to my eyes. Looking away, I subtly tried to wipe them before he saw the effect it had on me, and took a deep breath. I could do this, I told myself, he had taken me by surprise, but I could say what I needed to say without breaking down.

Or, at least, I would if and when he let me.

Harry placed his curved index finger under my chin and tilted my head back up to look at him. He was frowning at me, lips pouted slightly, and his brow was furrowed with concern. I waited for him to say something, but instead we stood in complete silence - just looking at the person opposite, wondering how much was still the same as before.

"I wanted to ask if you'll go to dinner with me." Harry finally spoke, making me jump slightly, "maybe tomorrow, if you can?"

"Uh..."

An invite to dinner. An invite to head down a path I was uncertain and reluctant to visit again. We'd had a lot of fun while our relationship was confined to various hotel rooms, but I was past the point in my life where casual sex was sufficient. I was starting to think about babies, what with the ominous, ticking biological clock hanging over my head, and possibly even getting married. (Then again, had I been that desperate for that chapter of my life, I'd have stayed with Joel.)

Harry was just twenty-four, still so young, and with a whole future in front of him, he couldn't possibly be ready to settle down just yet. He had the world at his fingertips. As much as I'd been affected by Harry's presence, getting involved with him again wasn't part of my plan. I definitely wanted more than a fling and room service for dinner.

As if reading my mind, Harry smirked, "And just so you know, I do mean dinner. In a restaurant, somewhere quiet."

"Just dinner?" I asked.

"Just dinner."

I couldn't deny I was tempted by the prospect of having dinner with him somewhere that was actually in public, and not hidden away like a dirty secret. The novelty of sneaking around had grown tiresome quickly, and I'd long since accepted that Harry and I had been doomed from the start. It was always going to be hard for us to become open and honest about being together, but I held a glimmer of hope that enough time had passed that surely one dinner couldn't hurt.

Somewhere, I heard a little voice telling me not to accept. That no good would come from us even breaking bread together. But, my hopes weren't raised, and I didn't expect that he'd have me bent over the table before the starters had even arrived. I was going into the dinner thinking of it as nothing more than two old friends having a meal together. I'd maybe even gain some closure and be able to walk away from him for good.

"Okay." I dug out my phone and checked my calendar to see if I was free the following evening. Seeing a small, very rare, chunk of empty evenings that hadn't been there that morning, I suspected Rose had something to do with it. "I have a meeting at five but it'll be done by six, is eight o'clock okay?"

"Perfect!"

Adding it into my calendar made my tummy flutter - 'Dinner with Harry, eight p.m.'. I was already mentally planning what to wear and if I could leave work early, all while trying to remain cool, calm, and collected on the surface.

When I switched the phone off and raised my gaze back up, Harry's face was even closer to me than it already had been. As it had done earlier in the evening, his head tilted to one side, and I readied myself for his kiss. There was barely half an inch between his face and mine, and I could see his eyes searching for permission from me. I could taste his breath, and I had flashbacks to how good he had been to kiss. I wished I'd had that shot of tequila from Rose because then, maybe, I'd have the courage to kiss him instead of waiting for him to make a move.

A move he didn't even make.

With a smirk that made me aroused, confused, and pissed off all at the same time, he stepped back and stood up straight, running a hand through his short hair. A noise of protest almost involuntarily burst from my mouth, demanding he come back and finish what he'd started but, instead, I fixed a smile on my face that was usually reserved for difficult clients.

"I'll let you know where and when tomorrow then," he said, taking another step back so the gap between us widened.

"Yes, uh... okay. I'll message if my meeting overruns."

Harry nodded. Then, for the second time that night, he turned, walked away, and left me hanging.

I waited for the door to close behind him before I let out a close-mouthed scream of frustration. Logically, I knew it wasn't good for us to do anything but talk yet, and us kissing would only complicate everything, however, the way he was behaving was throwing me for a loop! The lack of personal space with me was there like normal, but everything else was so formal, like we didn't know each other. I didn't know what to make of our conversation.

Heading back inside, I decided to leave. I left without telling anyone until I was in the taxi home. As I read through the torrent of abuse I received from my nearest and dearest, I got a message from Harry. A big red X. The first one I'd seen since I deleted the old numbers whilst crying on my living room floor and drinking gin.

❌  
_See you tomorrow Lil, goodnight x_

**°°°**

 

**_So, this will be the only update this week because I will be away in Germany for the week for a family wedding! I really hope_ ** **_you're_ ** **_enjoying where the story is atm, these are some of_ ** **_my_ ** **_absolute favourite chapters in the Hayla story so far, and_ ** **_re-writing_ ** **_them was hard work but so much_ ** **_fun_ ** **_. Thank you for all your love, comments, and votes, and reads in the past few weeks,_ ** **_I_ ** **_can't_ ** **_describe how much they all mean to me._ **

 

**_See you all soon! 😘❤☺_**  
**_xxx_**

 


	30. Intoxicated

The day was a write off before I’d even left the house. First, I accidentally turned my alarm off instead of pressing the snooze button, which meant I ended up sleeping until my second alarm, which was for when I should be leaving. Leaving late meant no shower, no time to remove the previous night’s make up that was halfway down my face, just enough time to throw my hair up into a messy bun, and also meant I got stuck in the traffic I usually avoided. The traffic made me half an hour late, I had no time to stop for coffee or the breakfast I’d promised Rose to make up for leaving early, and my hangover -which hadn’t had a chance to join in on ruining my morning because I’d been rushing around- was seriously starting to kick in from sitting still for too long. And, on top of all of that, just as I was parking in my usual spot, I got a message from Joel.

**Joel**   
_I thought there wasn’t going to be any picking sides? You going to a party with MY work, while I’m sent to see a supplier I could have spoken to on the phone?_   
_Guess I was right about the client being Harry._

Groaning, I sent a message in reply, apologising but also telling him there weren’t any sides being picked. I knew full well that had Harry not been at that party then Joel would have been or it was me who would have not been invited. But, I couldn’t explain that, all I could give was some pathetic apology.

The day had all the markings of being a shitty one and it wasn’t even 9 o’clock. I wanted to go home and go back to bed.

Rushing through the glass doors of our building, I quickly kissed the tips of my fingers and placed them upon the frosted letters of the business name. I did it every morning as I arrived and every night as I left, and it had somehow become a daily ritual for all the staff as they entered or left the building. It was a demonstration of gratitude for everything Rose and I had built up, like a blessing to the building we called home.

Head down, and hoping I wouldn't be noticed by the same people I often playfully scolded for being late, I headed straight for my office. Vicky was leading the morning’s team meeting, which meant that Rose was probably late too, or she was in the ladies being violently sick.

"You're late!" Vicky called suddenly, amusement heavy in her voice that both her bosses were hungover.

Shit! I'd been rumbled.

The whole team started to tell me I was a disgrace, asking me ‘what time do you call this?’, and tutting noisily, all the things I frequently did to them. There was a particularly enthusiastic, ‘your wages will be docked’, too.

I waved in their direction, holding back the urge to give them all the finger. “Yes, yes, you’re all very funny! Get back to work.”

Walking into the office, I saw my business partner, best friend, and so-called Tequila Queen, with her head on the desk looking like she'd just been dug up. She looked like how I felt, and that was somehow worse than I looked.

"Bet you're regretting those shots now?" I asked with a grin, sitting down in my chair.

"Ugh, I feel like absolute shit! But thankfully, not as bad as Dee. I left her with her head down the toilet. Thank god she doesn't have work until tonight." Rose sat up and groaned, pausing to what looked like letting a wave of nausea pass. "So, how did things go with Harry? I take it from your little disappearing act that it didn't go well."

"It actually went fine," I shrugged as I reached for the bottle of water I’d grabbed from my fridge and thrown in my bag before I left. Taking a cautious sip, I remembered that I was going to dinner with Harry later. I'd spent the morning trying not to think about him, or that we were having dinner, so it was easy to seem nonchalant, but now I had anxiety on top of my already nauseous tummy. "He invited me to dinner tonight."

Rose didn't seem too surprised, "Are you going?"

"So far, yes." Grimacing, I felt the butterflies stir and my heart start to race. “I’ll see how I feel through the day. Why did you give me tequila if you knew he was going to ask me to dinner?”

I didn't want to be excited about seeing him, or let my thoughts run away with themselves about what our dinner may lead to. I'd convinced myself that if I didn't care, that it was just an inconvenience, then I wouldn't make a fool of myself.

“Mate, I don’t fucking know what happened last night. I think all the stress of keeping Harry wanting to see you a secret got to me. I think I was celebrating that my part was done!” She shook her head. “I was thinking, are you going to tell Joel?”

“About Harry? Well, he already knows I was at the party last night and he wasn’t exactly thrilled. He thinks you’re all choosing me over him. As for telling him about Harry, there’s nothing to tell yet.” I switched on my computer and rested my elbows on my desk. "My dinner is at eight, so I'll go home straight after our meeting with Xav if that's all right?"

"Xav rearranged for next Tuesday, didn't Vicky tell you?" Rummaging on her desk, Rose found a post-it with a handwritten note confirming that one of our regular caterers had indeed called to rearrange. "So, if you want to go after the Spencer check-off then do it."

"Oh! Uh… Okay, if that's all right?"

She waved her hand and gave me a knowing smile. "What? So did you know he was going to ask me to dinner then? Is that why I have a free Thursday night for the first time in… what? Two years?"

"It's just… you two." Her smile spread into a grin as she sat back in her chair. The dreaminess in her expression and voice confused me, usually she only spoke about Harry in an incredibly aggressive manner. "I dunno, it was just nice to see you so...excited again last night, even if it was conflicted. You just seemed so happy to be near him, and what was even nicer was that he was behaving exactly the same. He couldn't keep his eyes off you. Honestly, every time I looked over to him he was watching you. And yes, I may have had some idea that you might need tonight off."

"Conflicted is an understatement." Scowling, I added in a mumble, "you bloody traitor."

"Lil, do you think I'd help him or give him the time of day if I thought for a moment he wasn't deserving?"

"No… I guess not."

"Just stop overthinking and let whatever will happen, happen naturally."

"I know. The thing is, Rose, I'll always love him, but I don't know if I want to be the person he makes me. Weak and whimpering, desperate for his love."

Rose shook her head in disagreement, "He didn't make you that person, Lil, your marriage did. You're different now, and so is he.”

I pursed my lips thoughtfully, trying to believe that I was different. It hadn't felt like I was the night before, when I was nervous and wishing Harry would kiss me. Then, it had felt like I was the same as before, the Layla who'd let both Harry and Will walk all over her. I was scared of becoming her again, she'd been unhappy and a shell of a person, she'd let people swallow up who she was. It had been a long, painful few years of discovering who I was until I had the freedom to be me, without someone mocking me, or being swallowed up by my pain and angst.

Rose let out a tiny, dainty belch, groaned at the nausea, and continued. "All you have to do, and I know you want to, despite how terrified you look, is hear him out. Talk over what happened, and maybe you two will have a shot because… Ugh! I'm loathed to say it, but maybe if I do you'll realise I'm serious when I tell you to not be so worried. He really fucking loves you, Lil, like  _really_  loves you."

"Not to sound cheesy, but is that enough?" I asked, surprised Rose was encouraging me to even consider being with Harry again. “There’s all the trus-”

"I'm too hungover for this." She whined.

"I know, I'm sorry. You're right! I should just go talk with him and see where it goes."

“That’s the spirit, bird! As for Joel, I know you feel guilty, but you should stop. I love Joel, I loved you two as a couple, and I miss him being around. The problem was, and I hate that Will spotted this before me, you just weren’t in love with him. You’re not wrong for feeling that way, Lil, you can’t choose who you fall in love with, you know that. I promise you, that I wouldn't have allowed anything with Harry to go ahead if one, you’d stayed with Joel, or two, you had said to me that you had zero interest in seeing Harry again.”

Relaxing my shoulders, I let what she was saying sink in. I had worried about Joel and if maybe his mentioning Harry wasn’t an accident, but I trusted Rose one hundred percent. And I believed her fully when she told me that Harry’s party would not have happened -or rather I wouldn’t have been invited- if I had no desire to see Harry because I was crazy in love with Joel. I had wanted to be in love with Joel, but I wasn’t.

I chuckled, “I hate that for a man who barely acted like he could stand me for so long, Will does know me freakishly well.”

“Honestly! He’s a better husband to you now than when you were married.” She smiled and clapped her hands together before rubbing her tummy as it let out an angry growl. "Now! As you were late, you can go get that coffee and breakfast you owe me. Thank you!"

**°**

I left work just after three, giving me plenty of time to get home and get ready without stressing too much over being late. The hangover had eased, but the nervous apprehension was almost too much as I drove home, and every time I caught sight of the large bouquet of pink roses in the passenger seat, my stomach would lurch.

Harry had sent the flowers to the office with a note which read:

_'Lil, can't wait to see you, love, H x'_

They had caused quite a stir, and I was bombarded with questions and speculations over who the mysterious 'H' could be. I was amazed that, although they’d all known Rose and I were attending a party my ex-husband was throwing for Harry Styles, not one of them had guessed that maybe Harry had sent me flowers. I was even more amazed to find out that Rose had gone rogue, on a solo mission to organise it, and hadn't told any of the staff it was happening.

I had a passing thought that maybe they didn’t think Harry would be interested in a woman like me, but then I told my negative voice to shut up. I no longer suppressed my feelings and emotions, but I actively suppressed the voice that told me I wasn’t good enough. I knew for certain that Harry had once been interested in me, very interested, and from the way he’d been with me the previous night, I suspected he still was. He might have dated literal supermodels who were tall and thin and had beautiful faces, but Harry had also dated me. I didn’t need to put myself down, or compare myself. I was just as good as they were.

I had been thinking about how proud my therapist would be, when Rose had given me a little nudge and a wink, like the bunch of flowers were a proposal of marriage. I knew they weren't quite that, but I liked that Harry seemed to understand that the pink roses meant something between us. I’d blocked Harry out of my life, but I had adopted the flower as a reminder of my self-worth on days when I felt like giving up. They had become my symbol of a happiness I could feel and was deserving of. The fact Harry seemed to remember what flowers he'd given me for my thirtieth birthday gave me hope that we’d really had something truly special.


	31. I've Seen That Movie Too

  
As promised, the restaurant Harry had chosen was quiet. It was also incredibly romantic. Located on a cobbled side street, I walked in from the cold, dark, February evening, and discovered it wasn’t much brighter inside. The lighting, music, even the conversation of the other diners, were all low and soft. It was cozy and inviting, and certainly set a mood.

I looked around and spotted Harry sat at a table in the furthest corner of the room, alone and unbothered. Lost in thought, his ringed fingers were curled around the stem of his glass of red wine, and he was staring at the candle in front of him so intensely it looked like he was keeping it alight.

He looked up just as I heard a voice politely ask, “Good evening, madam. Do you have a reservation?”

The young man’s smile was polite, but his eyes darted towards Harry as he spoke. Harry and I were having dinner in a restaurant, and not somewhere hidden away, but he’d also made sure that he wasn’t going to be disturbed while we talked. I had spotted the celebrity, and I imagined it was this guy’s job to make sure I wasn’t about to spoil their esteemed guest’s night.

Thankfully, Harry was already out of his seat, waiting to greet me. I gave a small wave, “I’ve just spotted my friend, thank you.”

The young man nodded his understanding, and I made my way to Harry’s table.

“Hello,” Harry said warmly as I approached. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, so do you.”

His welcome was much friendlier than it had been the night before. He hugged me tightly, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me as close to him as possible while burying his face into the curve of my neck. We held onto each other for a couple of minutes, like this was our first reunion, but it was me who pulled away first. I’d missed hugging him, but the warmth of his body, the smell of his aftershave, and the satisfied hum he’d made close to my ear were a bit overwhelming. I had to put some space between us before I latched onto him like a koala on a tree.

“This place is nice,” I said, shrugging off my coat.

“Thank you! I’ve been wanting to eat here for a while.” Taking our seats, we were both biting back grins. He gestured to an untouched glass of white wine, “I ordered you a drink already, is that okay? I can get them to change it if you wan-”

“No,” I picked up the glass to taste it, “no, this is fine, thank you.” He’d spoken quickly, rambling almost, and I couldn’t help but be endeared by his nervousness. I found it oddly calming to see the cool facade he’d had the night before was gone and instead saw that he was just as nervous as I was. The dinner was important to both of us. “Although, I am driving, so this can be my only one.”

“Me too,” Harry smiled, raising up his glass so we could toast to the evening, “but I hear the bottled water selection here is excellent.”

We exchanged glances and started to giggle. Feeling the uncertain tension break, we both simultaneously let ourselves relax and enjoy each other’s company. This Harry was more like the Harry I knew, the one who I’d shared room service with, the one who I always felt comfortable with.

After we ordered food, we chatted about our day, and I recounted how ill Rose had been. He told me how her and Dee had made him drink my shot of tequila before he came to join me outside, and he agreed when I said they were demons. I thanked him for the flowers and asked about the tour. He told me a little bit about his band and how he’d grown fond of them, especially Mitch who was his guitarist, and who he had written most of his album with. Thankfully, food arrived before he got to ask if I’d listened to it. I didn’t want to lie or hurt his feelings when things were going so well.

“So,” he shifted in his seat, expression mischievous, “did you know I was going to be there last night?”

Playfully, I rolled my eyes, “Yes, even though Will was going to trick me, I think.”

Harry chewed his food thoughtfully. He seemed uncomfortable at the mention of Will’s name, which I found odd. Had it not been for my ex-husband, we wouldn't be having dinner together. I knew there were things to discuss from that night, but I thought he’d forgiven Will for the part he had played.

Placing his cutlery down on his plate, Harry picked up his glass and took, what I guessed, was a gulp of Dutch courage. “I… I was surprised when I found out you were friends with Will and Terry.”

“It confuses a lot of people,” I chuckled, hoping he would too. He didn’t. “It especially took a long time to forgive Will, but I couldn’t imagine my life without him now.” I cleared my throat and wondered how he was going to react to what I was about to say. “Believe me, Will Daniels-French has gotten on his knees and begged for my forgiveness for the night he punc-”

“I don’t want to talk about that night.” Harry said suddenly, voice cold.  

All of the thawing of tension was undone in a flash. His focus was fixed firmly on his meal, and I could practically see the brick wall which had magically appeared between us.

Anger started to stir in my belly, and the food in my mouth turned into tasteless mulch. Were we ever going to talk about that night, or was I always going to be shut down every time I tried to bring up something from our not-so-great past? I felt frustration in my chest like a heavy weight, and I wanted to scream with rage just to be able to breathe properly again. Harry shutting me down, and his resistance, was similar to how Will used to be with me. I had dealt with my demons, I’d forgiven Will for his past behaviour, but I flat out refused to let anybody silence me. I’d agreed to the party and dinner because I had thought we were going to talk things through, but all Harry seemed interested in was polite chit chat. But, even that felt like a stretch now. It was once again like were were two strangers, like we had been set up on some god-awful blind date, and both people were counting down to the appropriate time to leave.

Giving up on trying to eat, I sat back in my seat and made no attempt to hide my annoyance. Bitterly, I thought to myself, ‘I never had any of this shit with Joel. Nice, lovely Joel, who loved me and understood me and who I had almost perfect communication with. Sort of.’

Harry looked up from his food and stared directly at me with the same intensity he'd stared at the candle when I'd walked in. He then sighed sadly, "I'm trying really hard here, Lil."

"…What does that mean?"

"It doesn't matter."

His vague, distant manner was irritating me beyond belief, and my patience was wearing thin. Logically, I knew it was likely that I was seeing his behaviour as worse than it actually was, but I wasn't okay with pretending everything was sunshine and rainbows. That’s what had fucked everything the last time! He hadn’t voiced his concerns then and had ended up cheating on me, and I had pretended like I was fine, like he hadn’t hurt me beyond belief.

"So far, Harry, the only thing you're trying is my patience. What did you mean? And why won't you talk to me like a real person?" My heart was racing, but I kept my voice low so as not to cause a scene.

"Can't we just have dinner without dragging up the past?" He answered, now sounding equally as irritated as me. “I’m trying to have a nice evening with you.”

At that moment, a veil lifted, allowing me to clearly see the man sat opposite me, and a red mist descended.

I couldn't believe I'd considered letting Harry back into my life, that I'd believed my so-called friends when they said he loved me. He didn’t love me, he loved the idea of me, the old me, the weak, whimpering me who let him treat me like shit. Once again, he was clicking his fingers, and I had come running like a complete and utter moron! I had even planned to apologise for how things ended, tell him that I regretted how terribly I’d handled that night, and that hearing him when he showed up on my doorstep, drunk and crying, had broken my heart. But, all I wanted at that moment was to tell him where exactly he could stick the apology.

"This was a bad idea," I muttered, picking my bag up off the floor and standing up. "It was really nice to see you again, Harry. I'll pay for dinner."

I grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair and headed for a nearby waitress so I could arrange to pay. I wanted to storm out, but I refused to let him foot the bill like I had in the past.

Sensing I was in a hurry, the girl was quick, but not quick enough, and by the time I'd finished, Harry was by my side with his coat on ready to leave with me.

"I'll walk you to your car." His jaw was clenched, he looked annoyed that I wasn't playing along with whatever stupid game he was playing. Things weren't going how he'd planned, and he hated it. Surely, Rose and Will had warned him that I wasn’t going to just go along with whatever?

"No thanks! I can find it myself!" Smiling widely, I turned to the waitress as she handed me back my card, and I pointed to Harry, "You should get a photo with him before he leaves, he’s not in any rush."

I heard him let out a small groan as she nodded eagerly, relieved it was suggested so she didn't have to get in trouble with management for asking. I knew he was too polite to refuse, so while he obliged, I made my getaway.

As I walked to my car, I cursed Harry for choosing a restaurant on a wet, cobbled street, and I cursed my decision to wear stiletto heels. My ankles threatened to give way with every step I made, and the only saving grace was that, because it was so dark and quiet, if I did actually fall flat on my face, nobody would see it.

Checking my phone for the first time, I saw it was later than I thought, and despite how terrible the meal had gone, at least time had passed quickly and not crawled by. Either way, when I got home, Rose would be getting a phone call and a torrent of abuse for her part in setting me up with Harry again. I didn't give a single fuck if she was fast asleep, she was lucky I wasn't making use of the spare key to her house. As I approached my car, I found my car keys at the bottom of my bag and clutched them in my hand tightly. I could hear Harry running up behind me, asking me to stop. I unlocked the car, turned around, and felt my temper snap.

"What do you want, Harry? Seriously?!" I hissed, aware that while I was furious, I didn't want to draw attention to us fighting in the street.

"To talk." His reply was weak, and I saw him regret it as soon as he said it, knowing the answer would only anger me further.

He didn't want to talk, he wanted to pretend the whole thing hadn't happened, as though we were meeting for the first time. Which was a nice, romantic idea, but I couldn’t skip over our history like we hadn’t seriously hurt each other. I was happy to put things in the past, start afresh, but I at least wanted to say my piece first.

He tried again, this time with more conviction, "I just wanted to see you, Lil, I...I missed you."

"And I missed you too, Harry!" I cried out, stamping my foot against the cobbles with frustration. "But you can't keep shutting me down, you can't ignore what I did! I'd rather you shout at me than behave like some weird fucking robot!"

Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath before opening them again. The stoic, empty, blankness was gone, and finally I saw emotion; anger, hurt, upset. Now, when he spoke, it was low and measured, like it was taking everything in him not to raise his voice.

"I'm not doing this here, Layla, I don't want a fucking therapy session in the middle of the fucking street!" He spat the last few words before taking another breath and regaining his composure, "I just wanted to have dinner with you. That's all."

"Yeah, well, thanks, but I think, maybe, we should see other people." Letting out a short and bitter laugh, I opened my car door, desperate to get away, "Oh, wait! You know all about that!"

Harry's palm hit the glass with such a force, I was surprised it didn't go straight through. I slammed the door shut, refusing to move. He was close to me, leaning in so our faces were inches apart. I could see that a small part of him hated me, and that was what I'd been waiting for. I wondered if maybe I had destroyed all the good in him, something I'd always been afraid of doing.

"Maybe", he sneered with disgust, "but at least we weren't fucking married."

He might as well have slapped me. I recoiled at his words, and looked at him with complete horror. He was right, but he was conveniently forgetting that he had actively pursued me. He had no place to be throwing our affair in my face like he had no part in it.

"You know what? I sort of had this hope that maybe we'd work things out, that we could give it another try. But just like last time, you fucked it up. Well done!" He didn't respond, just scowled at me with unbridled anger. "What? Don't like it that I'm not falling at your feet, grateful for your attention? That I’m not the weak, delicate Layla you fucked over?"

Scoffing, Harry turned his head away for a second, then looked at me again with the cold glare I’d once had nightmares about seeing. "Guess we both had a lucky escape then, didn’t we?"

Leaning in close, I told him as calmly as I could,considering I wanted to rip his head off of his shoulders, "Get your fucking hand off my fucking car."

Defiant, he held his hand in place until, finally, he stepped back, yanked the door open so I could get in, and turned to walk back in the direction of the restaurant. Pulling his phone out of his trouser pocket, he put it to his ear as he strode along furiously.

My hands were shaking, and it took a few attempts to get the key in the ignition. Eventually, I started the car, and it roared loudly into life as I revved it. I drove up to where Harry was standing, next to what I suspected was his own car, and came to a stop.

Winding my window so I was certain he'd hear me, I called his name, and he glanced in my direction, brows arched, frown deep, and his mouth a thin line. "Don't ever contact me again. We're done for good this time."

With a screech of tires on the pebbles, I drove off, meaning exactly what I'd said, and leaving Harry behind me, his reflection blurring in the rear view mirror.


	32. Future Starts Slow

They say there's a fine line between love and hate, and as I drove home, I hated harry with every fibre of my being. Rage ran through me with such violence, I nearly broke the front door slamming it shut behind me. I threw my keys and bag on the hallway table, and stomped loudly into the living room where my cat, Stanley, meowed at me loudly for waking him up.

Needing to release some of my anger, I picked up a cushion from the sofa, buried my face into the green fluffy fabric, and screamed into it as loud and as long as I could.

Why on earth had I thought letting Harry back into my life again was a good idea?! I hadn't kicked him out or pretended he didn't exist just for the hell of it! There had been a bloody good reason! I should have just left well alone, given him a thanks but no thanks, and stayed at home with Stan, Netflix, and my vibrator. At least the only grief I got from the vibrator was when the batteries ran out. I didn't want -or need- the drama Harry came with, I wanted someone who made me unequivocally happy. I had broken things off with Joel because he couldn't give me that happiness, I wasn't about to forget that and go back to Harry just because I still loved him!

Fuck. I did still love him.

Finally running out of steam, I dropped the cushion back down into its place, and headed for my (usually just decorative) drinks trolley, in desperate need of a stiff drink. I poured myself a large glass of rum and gulped half the contents down. I started to feel calmer as I closed my eyes and enjoyed the warmth in my belly.

When I opened my eyes, Stan, who was sat in his favourite armchair, looked at me with judgement.

"Bet you don't have any of these problems, eh?" I grumbled. His only answer was to blink and yawn widely, I took that to mean he didn't.

I was about to go upstairs and call Rose before bed, when the doorbell rang, and there was a loud hammering on the door. Harry had either followed me home or some traitor (Will) had given him my address.

At first I tried to ignore him, I'd had plenty of practice doing that all the other times he'd turned up on my doorstep, drunk and begging to talk. But, he wasn't drunk and upset this time, he was sober and pissed off. As the hammering got louder and louder, and I heard him shout for me to open up and let him in, I began to worry that one of my neighbours would phone the police. If anyone was going to be calling the cops on Harry because he was being a nuisance, it was going to be me.

Slamming my half full glass down onto the coffee table, I flew out to the hall, ready to tell him that it's creepy to follow women home, even if you are Harry fucking Styles. I swung the door open and took him by surprise, but only for a second.

Barging his way past me, he muttered, darkly, "You're not walking away this time."

"You really need to work on that ego of yours, Harry. Just accept that someone doesn't want you.  _I_  don't want you."

I turned to face him just as he closed the space between us, eyes burning with fury. He reached behind me, slammed the door shut, and backed me up against it, making me gasp in shock. I'd wanted him to tell me how he felt, but I hadn't expected such an aggressive response from him. For a second, I was genuinely scared.

"You're done, hmm?" he growled, putting his face close to mine. "Really fucking done this time?"

Fear switched back to anger. I stood up straight and said, "Oh, I am so done with you, you were the biggest mistake I ever made."

We were both trembling with rage, breathing unsteady, eyes locked and daring each other to see who could throw the lowest blow. He wanted to hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him. I also wanted him to hurt me, to tell me exactly what he thought of our break up.

I didn't regret breaking up with him, it had been the best thing I could have done, but I always regretted that I hadn't found the balls to sit and explain fully why. Terry had never really told me what he'd said to Harry the night he had come to get him. I had just been grateful that Harry hadn't ever come back after. But, I knew there was anger in him because of it, I could see it, I'd seen it the moment he'd reached out to shake my hand at the party. It was all well and good wanting to pretend like it had never happened, but ignoring our problems had never worked before. If Harry was wanting to try again, we had to be honest with everything, no matter how painful it was.

Licking his bottom lip, Harry then bit into it, as if to stop himself from saying something he might regret.

"C'mon, Harry," I said, taunting him, "I want to know how much you hate me."

His hands suddenly went to my shoulders, pinning me to the door with his entire upper body strength, and he kissed me. A hard, demanding kiss that crushed the underside of my lips against my teeth painfully. I welcomed his tongue eagerly as he thrust it into my mouth, the grip on my shoulders tightening as he groaned and pressed his whole body against me. Harry kissed me like he hated me; there was no hint of any softness, no want to be gentle, and no sign of any restraint.

I grabbed the waistband of his trousers, holding his groin against mine, wanting to feel him grow hard against my thigh. A moan slipped from my lips as he tried to raise his knee to sit between my legs, but I whined with frustration when my tight skirt stopped him. He chuckled with amusement, so I nipped at his bottom lip until he let out a hiss.

His hand, the one with the anchor tattoo, went to my throat, and he whispered in my ear, "Don't fucking push me, Layla."

I wanted to push him, I wanted him to give me everything he had. I wasn't someone he needed to protect anymore, he didn't need to treat me like a precious flower.

"Why, Harry?" I mocked, daring him to go further. "What are you going to do?"

Accepting my challenge, he turned me around and roughly pulled up the hem of my skirt until it was wrapped around my waist. His groan was loud in my ear as he stroked across the curve of my behind with his hand, while the one that had been around my throat buried itself in my hair. He gripped on tightly while he kissed my neck, sucking and biting my soft skin in a way that made me whimper.

"Is this what you want?" He asked, the seriousness in his voice making me shiver. "You want me to show you how much I hate what you did?"

I tried to looked at him, moving my head as much as he allowed, and our eyes met. There was a burning lust in him that I liked seeing, one I'd never experienced, one where I knew, if I let him, he was going to fuck the hate out of both of us. The thought sent a shot of arousal straight through me and made me whimper, "Yes, that's exactly what I want."

Hands still in my hair tightly, he moved back with a devilish grin. I could no longer see him, but I could feel his hands kneading the plumpness of my ass. I closed my eyes and enjoyed his attention, trying to quiet the voice screaming in my head that couldn't believe Harry was touching me again. His hand pulled away, and in the same moment, I realised what he was about to do. He spanked my behind with the flat of his palm, the loud, echoing smack mixing with my cry of pleasure and pain. He repeated the action three more times, inhaling sharply every time I flexed my palm against the door and moaned out for him to do it harder. His hard slaps left my skin stinging, the rings he always wore adding to the deliciousness of the pain.

Turning me back around to face him, he kissed me again before pulling me forward, away from the door. I knew what he wanted - falling back naturally into sync with him - and bent over the hallway console table. With my palms flat on the wooden surface, my forehead pressed against the wall, the nervous excitement made my legs shake. Harry dropped to his knees, and hooked his fingers over the silk waistband of my panties. He pulled them down slowly, taking his time, and enjoying as what he craved was revealed. I felt cold air mix with his warm breath on my wetness, while he let my soaked panties fall around my ankles.

I let out a whimper of frustration, aching with need to feel his mouth on me. "Harry, please!"

"No begging, or you'll get nothing." He spanked me again, hand flat and fingers straight, making me yelp. Biting my bottom lip, I made a promise to myself that by the end of the night, I'd be saying those words back to him.

Harry didn't make me wait long for his mouth. Placing hot, open-mouthed kisses at the base of my spine, his tongue started to trail down the center, and his hands parted my butt cheeks. I whimpered loudly, knees almost buckling as his tongue ran over a place it hadn't been on me before. I'd forgotten how good he could make me feel, enough so that I didn't even care that I'd left a huge, red lipstick smear on the wall.

Everything suddenly sped up again as he got back onto his feet. He stood behind me, and I experienced a forgotten thrill as I heard the sound of him sliding down the zip of his trousers.

"Have you had enough, Lil?" He asked, stroking two fingers over my pussy and dipping them into me so I'd be close to begging. "Do you want me to stop?"  
I was caught; I wanted to beg but I wasn't allowed to. Would he refuse if I asked? Would he do the right thing of stopping if I said no? I didn't want him to stop, I wanted him, I ached for him, but how did I get what I wanted?

Pushing back, I let out a frustrated whimper, pleading and begging without saying a word, but I knew that wasn't going to cut it. I tried to keep my voice steady as I finally said, "No, I don't want you to stop."

Harry's hand glided up the curve of my spine until once again his fingers were tangled up in my hair, then he pulled my head back just at the moment he thrust into me, making my back arch,  and making me cry out in bittersweet agony.

He fucked me hard. Every whimper or moan I made fuelled him to keep up his pace, to give me every inch with full power behind it. I'd been so focused on proving to him that I wasn't the same person, and now it was his turn. I'd figured out that the "date", for him, had always been about looking forward to the people we were going to be, not looking back to the people we'd been before. I was sure the fight, and him screwing me in such a domineering way, had not been part of the plan -and I suspected he'd be much gentler in future- but this message was clearer than just ignoring what needed to be said - He was angry with me, angrier than he probably even realised, and that had to be dealt with, somehow.

"You left this behind, Lil," Harry mumbled harshly, voice still loaded with anger and confirming what I had suspected. "You walked away, but nobody fucks you like I do, nobody fucks you like this, do they?"

"You really think you're so fucking special, huh?"

I tried to sound mocking, attempting to match his contempt, but the breathy gasp my last word merged into gave me away. Harry chuckled darkly, and I could picture the smirk on his face as he did so. It irked me to know I'd proven him right.

Except, it wasn't enough. He tugged my head back further so my back was arched uncomfortably, placed a hand gently around my throat, and spoke close to my ear, "I know you missed this. Missed how I make you feel."

He nipped at my earlobe, satisfied when I whimpered and pushed back against him. I'd obviously had sex since Harry, I hadn't become some born-again virgin waiting for 'the right man'. Joel and I had a really great sex life, it was just that Harry had set the bar for me. And just like re-watching your favourite movie after a long time of having not seen it, he was everything I remembered and more. Practice and age meant he was lasting much longer, slamming into me hard while I clenched around his cock, and showing no signs of needing to feel his release. I was reminded, as my cheeks burned and the muscles tightened in my tummy, that there was just something inexplicably special about the way he made me feel.

"Oh fuck, Harry, I'm so close! Please, don't stop!"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I hoped he hadn't heard me beg, but he came to an abrupt halt and pulled out, leaving me empty and almost delirious with need. I looked at him over my shoulder, and he stood behind me, stroking himself, hard and proud.

"Begging gets you nothing," he reminded with a smirk, before suddenly pointing at the black and white tiled floor and telling me, "Get on your knees. On all fours."

For a second, I hesitated, unsure I wanted to be so pliant, but when I moved and felt the weighty need between my thighs, my mind was made up. The floor was cold against my skin, and still wearing my high-heels, my knees protested slightly from being out of practice of having sex in uncomfortable places. I shivered and wiggled my behind, anticipating that first delicious moment of him entering me again, filling me back up. The idea alone was nearly enough to make me climax, but finally -after what felt like forever- he grabbed my hips and dragged me backwards, sliding back into me with an almost embarrassing ease.

Being on all fours made everything feel more intense. Each hard thrust danced over the line of pleasure and pain, leaving me completely lost in his every action. His hands held onto my hips tightly, fingers marking me with bruises that I loved him leaving, and had missed him leaving. My mind and body were completely at the mercy of his touch.

"Does that feel good, hmm?" He asked, his thrusts quickening. "Is this what you want, Layla? What you need?"

"Yes! So. Good!" I'd reached the point where I couldn't think straight, answering his questions with loud, broken whimpers. "I need you."

The edge came hurtling towards me, and I hung onto the precipice, waiting to fall over. I felt a heat spread through the lower half of my body, an orgasm that  seemed to reach the very tips of my toes and the tips of my fingers. I pleaded with him to go faster and not to stop, grateful that he complied with my wishes. Slamming himself harder and faster into me, my arms gave up completely, and I pressed my hot and clammy cheek against the cool tiles.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked without slowing or easing his movements. Close to his own peak, his voice trembled and cracked when he spoke.

I made a noise to let him know I was fine, my mind lost while I revelled in the tingling still coursing through my body, his continuous thrusts hitting against my already sensitive G spot. Finding the strength, I lifted myself up, and he wrapped an arm around the front of my chest, pulling me against him so his laboured breaths tickled my ear.

"Fuck!" He suddenly cried out, the sound of his release muffled against my shoulder as his orgasm took him by surprise.

His movements became messy, and he pushed into me a last few times, his body rigid and lost in his moment of bliss.

When he fell limp against me, both of us spent and exhausted, there was complete silence. The fog of lust was clearing slowly, and the realisation that only half an hour earlier I'd have happily never seen him again was setting in. We had just fucked, but other than sore knees and a red-raw ass, nothing had been achieved by it.

"Fuck!" He repeated, but with a much different tone. He lifted his weight off me, pulling himself out, and then he was gone.

I collapsed onto the floor and felt sweet relief as I kicked off my shoes and wiggled my numb toes. Pulling my skirt down and sitting up, I stretched my legs out on either side of where Harry was knelt, still breathing heavy, and his face twisted with regret.

"Are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?" He asked, quietly.

"Not in a bad way." Blushing, I smiled at him coyly, hoping he'd mirror it, but my smile faded when he didn't return it. He just looked at me seriously and pained.

"That shouldn't have happened," he said.

For the second time that night, Harry's words were a slap in the face. I hadn't expected us to suddenly be sunshine and lollipops, skipping off together into the sunset, but I certainly didn't expect to ever be called a mistake.

I hated him.


	33. Calm After The Storm

 

Without saying a word, I got up and went into the living room. Grabbing the glass of brandy I'd left half finished, I drained its contents before going to pour myself another, larger measure.

I felt… used, and ashamed. I hated that I'd let him into my home, one he hadn't been in before, one that hadn't been tainted by his presence because now, I'd remember what had just happened and how it had been a mistake to him. I was a mistake.

I was always somebody's mistake.

My childhood was the other battle I had faced while we were apart. I'd gone to therapy, come to terms with the things that weren't my fault, and learned to let go of the guilt over my sister. I'd worked hard on accepting what had happened, it had been even harder as I dealt with what had happened with Will, Terry, and Harry, but I had managed it. Harry's cold utterance that us having sex had been a mistake felt like all of that hard work was coming undone.

He appeared at the door as I sat on the edge of the sofa, the creak in the floorboard giving him away, but I couldn't stomach looking at him. I gripped my drink with both hands to hide that they were shaking, and I could already feel aches and pains starting to wreak their revenge. I closed my eyes and planned to phone in sick for work. Rose would think I was in a glow of love, but really, I wanted to drown my sorrows and pretend the night hadn't happened. Mentally, and physically, I was getting too old for this shit.

"Lil-"

"You can go now."

"Layla, pl-"

"What?! What is it Harry? What more is there possibly to say?" I raised my voice as I looked at him. He looked dishevelled and mauled, lips swollen, shirt untucked with a lipstick mark on the collar, and his short, dark hair was tousled. I thought to myself, 'if he looks _that_ bad of a mess, I dread to think what I look like'. Putting my head back down, and raising my glass to my lips, I muttered, "I already know what you think of me."

The glass was taken from my hand, and I looked up to see Harry leaning over me. He crouched down, put my drink on the floor, and took hold of my hands. Closing his eyes and exhaling, he suddenly seemed worn out, like he'd been awake for days with too much on his mind. I knew the feeling well.

"I'm sorry, I really fucked this up,” he said, pressing his lips to the back of my hand. “I promise that this isn't how I wanted this all to go. I didn't, I mean, what I said out there, uh… It's-"

"Huh?" Irritated, I frowned, wanting him to just say what he needed to so he could leave.

"I just…I don't want to ignore everything that happened between us, Lil, but I wanted to start fresh. I wanted it to be like we'd just met, a fresh start without all that horrible stuff from when we weren't ready. What happened just now, it shouldn't have happened like that. I got angry and I shouldn't have, I wanted to wait and not-"

"So you do regret it?"

"No, oh god, baby, not at all!" He shook his head and stroked my cheek, gently brushing away a tear I hadn't even realised I was crying, then said in a whisper, "I wanted to do things properly this time. Layla, I love you, I don't regret anything with you."

Dropping to his knees, and kissing the back of my hand again, he kissed where there had once been a wedding ring. I couldn't speak, I was confused and uncertain of what he was actually saying to me. The mixed messages were tiring my brain, and a part of me was still waiting for him to leave. Do things properly? Fresh starts? None of this felt particularly fresh, he'd walked back into my life and turned it upside down again. Him being on his knees, asking for my forgiveness for a mistake he'd made, it all felt like a _deja vu_ of when he'd told me he'd slept with someone else. Taking my hand back and getting up to move away from him -even doing that reminded me of that night- Harry stayed kneeling, but twisted around to watch me walk to the middle of the room where I started to pace the floor.

I felt discombobulated and unsure what I should do. My mind was racing, but there was nothing apart from incomplete thoughts and repeated questions. Did I kick him out? Did I try again to get him to talk? Did I even want to do this all over again? Pain. That’s all Harry had become to me towards the end, was there really any way we could move past that?

I stopped dead in my tracks and let the first thing I thought come out of my mouth. "Do things properly. What does that mean?"

His expression turned wary, breaking eye contact while probably trying to figure out if it was a trick question. "Uhhh… us? You and me?"

"Oh." My ears hadn't been playing tricks or hearing things they wanted to hear. I was confused because Harry had spent two days not making himself clear, so now that he was, it really needed to be spelled out. "Is that what you really want? You want us to be together, properly?"

"Don't you want to?" He asked, quietly. I saw fear in his eyes, maybe left over from my kicking him out years ago. "If you don't, I'll accept it. I won't keep buggi-"

Taking three long strides across the floor, I got down on my knees and kissed him.

There was a world of difference to the hot, angry kisses we’d shared in the hallway. This was the kiss I'd pictured us sharing at the party; soft and slow, but still just as passionate. He pulled me close, wrapping an arm around my waist so I straddled his lap, while his free hand sat on the side of my face.

"I've missed you so much," I whispered between kisses, an overwhelming swell of love for him growing in my chest and thawing the coldness I'd wrapped myself in since I'd blocked him out of my life. The truth I’d denied was that Harry had been on my mind every minute of every hour of every day. "You really, really want this?"

Resting his forehead against mine, he cupped my face and looked me in the eye. There was no more hate in the green eyes I'd missed so much, only love, and a hint of worry that it would all go wrong again. I don't think either one of us could take that pain. "More than anything."

"I want to do this properly too," I said, playing with the buttons on his shirt. Somewhere in the _meleé_ , he'd lost the third button down, and I made a mental note to find it for him in the morning so he could get it fixed. "But, we should talk first. Y’know? Make sure we’re both on the same page, that we want the same things."

"I want what you want, Lil," Harry grinned, kissing me again. "But, we'll do this however you want. I don't want to rush, or fall back into what we had before. I want to take it slow, and do it right. Want to see if we can do this, without the sneaking around or feeling like what we have is wrong"

"That's what I want too." Looking away, I felt emotion well up in my chest again. “I thought you were ashamed of me. Because I’m n-”

“Layla, no, I was never, ever ashamed of you.” He brushed away my tears with his thumbs, looking up at me with a dimpled smile. “When I spoke to Rose, and she told me you thought I was ashamed of you, my heart broke. I know why you thought that. I look back at how I treated you and I feel sick, but I promise you that I was trying to protect you. The more people who found out about us, they were all throwing their opinion in, and it just… it sounds so stupid now, but it confused me. I wanted to cling to the bubble we had in the beginning, when it was just you and me, alone in that hotel room. I was trying to do the right thing by keeping us a secret, but I just fucked everything up.”

I kissed him again, a gentle peck on the lips that I hoped would encourage him to keep talking to me, to be honest with me. “I love you.”

“I love you too, so fucking much,” he breathed, tears brimming his eyes. I pulled his head against my chest as he softly cried, the whole evening’s events seeming to have caught up with him.

Kissing the top of his head, I mumbled against his hair, “Can we, please, at the very least, agree to be honest with each other? About everything?”

“Yes, I want that.” His words vibrated in my bosom, making me feel like I’d felt them in my heart.

Moving to the sofa, we just sat together in almost complete silence, holding on to each other, afraid of saying or doing something that would ruin our truce. I nuzzled my face into his neck, inhaling his scent, and feeling that feeling of being home that I’d wanted with Joel. Harry was home, Harry was the love of my life, and even if we didn’t work things out after we talked, then I’d, at least, know that for certain.

"Do… do you want me to go?" Harry asked when I used his chest to stifle a yawn.

"Well, yes I guess you should if we're going to take things slowly. Also, I do have work tomorrow and it's," I lifted Harry’s arm to look at his watch and groaned, "Christ! It's nearly two am."

"Lots of coffee for you tomorrow then," he chuckled as we both sat up. “I’m sure Rose will be understanding.”

“She better be.”

Returning to the scene of our earlier crime, we walked back out into the hallway. I turned on the light, kicked my shoes out of the way, and grimaced at the lipstick smear on the wall. I'd been meaning to put a mirror there anyway, I guessed that now I had to!

I watched Harry make himself a little more presentable, although it was dark and the streets were pretty much empty. It felt so strange to see him in my home, the home I’d thought I was going to share with Joel, but I liked it, and he seemed to fit.

"So, I'll call you tomorrow? Is it okay to call you at work?"

I bit back a smile and answered, "Yes, yes you can call me at work."

Hand on my jaw, his thumb stroked my cheek before he leaned in and kissed me tenderly. I hummed happily against his lips, waiting for the moment I woke up to find it was all one of those gut-wrenching dreams that leave you empty all day. But, his chest felt warm under his shirt, and I could feel his heartbeat under my palm. I could only hope that the rollercoaster night we'd had was real and not a cruel trick of the mind.

"Okay, I'm going," he said sternly to himself, before adding to me, "although I'd kiss you all night if I could."

Opening the door before I could suggest that maybe he stayed and kissed me all night, Harry stepped out onto the doorstep. He inhaled the night air, then turned to me with a look of joy that made my heart sing with love for him. We stood close to each other again, kissed goodbye, and reluctantly parted. I sensed he really could have stayed there all night, but was respecting what I had said about taking our time.

He got into his car, and I waited for him to drive off before going back inside and closing the door behind me.

With an aged grunt, I picked up my panties from the floor, grabbed my purse from off the hallway table, and went back into the living room to get Stan who had somehow slept through the whole debacle. He started purring the moment I touched him, stretching out and letting a yawn overtake his normally stern looking face.

"Come on you," I said, picking him up in and holding him in one arm like a furry, orange, baby, "bed time for us."

Upstairs, Stan was quick to settle in his spot on the bed. He started to clean himself, and deciding that was a good idea, I went and had a shower so I didn't have to do it in the morning. I also needed to wash away the smell of sex, which sadly also meant I would wash away the scent of Harry.

Just thinking about him made me smile. Even as I stuck my hand under the shower head to test the water temperature, I was grinning like an idiot.

I took off my clothes and threw them in the laundry basket, spotting that my shirt had a tear on the sleeve as I did so. Realising it was probably from when Harry had grabbed my arm as he pushed me up against the door, I whimpered at the memory, and stepped into the cubicle. I'd just closed my eyes to savour the hot water on my aching muscles, when the doorbell rang loudly and made me jump so hard that I nearly slipped over.

The coward in me told me I should just run to my bed and ignore whoever it was while I hid under the covers with Stan. But, I also knew that my neighbours were good people, and if they'd heard Harry's banging on my front door, it was likely they'd called the police.

Stopping the water, I hopped out the shower and threw on my dressing gown just as the bell rang again. I ran down the stairs and paused at the bottom to make sure I was decent - not wishing to flash some police constable on their night shift. The night had been dramatic enough without adding being arrested for indecent exposure to the mix!

I took a peek through the spyhole and instantly broke into a wide smile. Some things would never change.

"Hello," Harry grinned at me cheekily when I opened the door. He took a step closer and confessed, "I really don't want to leave."

"I really don't want you to leave."

Our bodies met, colliding in lust and need. I grabbed the lapels of his jacket and dragged him into the house, eager to get him upstairs. We had lost so much time apart, and I wanted to make up for it before we spoke and inevitably broke up again.

As I pulled his shirt open, sending another button flying through the air, I pulled him in the direction of the stairs. Maybe I'd regret letting him into my bed once we realised that actually we both wanted very different things, but I didn't care. I just wanted him while I could have him, before we said one last goodbye, and once again he would just be someone I used to know.

"I love you," I said as we reached my bedroom door, running my hands over his bare chest.

Harry beamed at me -going from sex god to playful puppy in seconds- and rubbed the tip of his nose against mine. "I love you too, Lil."


	34. Leather And Lace

I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a bus. The muscles in my thighs felt tight, my arms ached, and my lower back twinged as I reached to switch off my alarm. It took a few moments to remember why. Squinting at my phone with one eye, I saw a message from Rose, responding to the one I'd sent before I fell asleep to tell her I was taking the day off. I was expecting her to tell me off, but she just sent a series of sexual emojis, and said she'd be around to catch up after work.

**Layla**   
_Thanks pervert! Bring Dee, I'll cook us dinner and provide wine._

**Rose**   
_Shall I bring an inflatable ring for you to sit on?_

Deciding to give her a little taste of her own medicine for her meddling, I answered,

**Layla**   
_It was a disaster, we ended up just fighting. I'm staying in bed with Stan and binge watching 'Drag Race' while I cry. Will explain later x_

There was a delay in response, and I knew full well she was cursing Harry's name. I felt a little guilty for lying, but I'd placate her with carbs and wine later in the day, and all would be forgiven.

"Do you have to go to work?"

The sound of Harry's voice made me jump, words muffled by one side of his barely-moving mouth being pressed against the pillow. Turning to look him, his eyes were still closed, and had I not heard him, I would have thought he was still peacefully fast asleep.

"Day off." Rolling over, I reached out and stroked his jaw, disbelieving that somehow he'd gotten even more beautiful, and that he was actually in my bed. "Do you have plans today?"

"Oh thank god, I didn't dream last night happened." His mouth curved into a wide smile as he opened one eye and caught me staring at him. "I do now."

"So, taking things slow...?" I giggled, shifting closer and kissing his warm forehead. He smelled of sleep and sex, and best of all, he smelled of Harry.

Humming with approval at my closeness, his arm dragged me up against his naked body before he pulled my leg up to wrap over his hip. As he nuzzled his nose against my neck,he mumbled, "Our first date can be breakfast, and then our second date will be lunch, and..."

"I like your way of thinking. In fact, I'm cooking dinner for Rose and Dee tonight. Maybe you could come too?" Quickly, I added, "Or is it too soon for you to meet my friends properly?"

Harry didn't give me an answer, just stroked my behind gently, grazing his fingers over the skin that was tender from his enthusiastic spanking. I took a sharp intake of breath as he ran over a particularly sore bit, and he groaned sympathetically, tilting his head back to look at me with concern.

"Are you ok? Did I really hurt you?"

"No, I'm just a bit sore and achy." Looking at his sleepy, worried face, an overwhelming sense of peace washed over me. Everything felt so different in the daylight to how it had the night before. I'd been so ready to walk away, but now it was the furthest thing from my mind. I felt like I was exactly where I should be, with the person I should be with. "Sore and achy, but very, very happy."

With a beaming smile, he returned to nuzzling my neck, pressing the occasional kiss as he settled. Limbs tangled, bodies warm, and with a level of comfort I'd never had with anyone but him, we both drifted back to sleep.

  
We'd continued the night as it had begun, with hot, moaning kisses, and a desire to erase the pain of having been apart for so long. My robe came off easily, so we both tore at his clothes as we made our way to the bed, eager to feel the connection of skin on skin.

Stan had already scarpered at the sound of the door bursting open, so as soon as we got close to the bed, I pushed Harry back onto it. Shirtless, in just his briefs, and with his trousers around his ankles, I climbed astride his naked thighs. I pulled the front of his underwear down and held his rock hard cock in my hand.

"What was it you said to me?" I'd asked, stroking him slowly as I bit my lip and pretended I was trying to remember his words. "Oh yes! No begging, or you'll get nothing."

Half closing his eyes, Harry let out a groan that was equal parts pleasure and regret. But, when they opened again, I saw a dark, glint of excitement about what I was going to do to him. He'd held his breath as I put my head down, and he didn't exhale until I placed my tongue at the base of his erection and dragged it slowly all the way to the tip, all while keeping eye contact.

"Fuck!" He whimpered, shuddering and propping himself up on his elbows to watch me.

I did the same again, quicker, and stroking the head with the flat of my tongue. The taste of our antics in the hallway was still on him, but it was overpowered by the small, salty leak of precum. He raised his hips and let out a frustrated whine through his teeth, reaching a hand down to stroke loose strands of hair from my face.

"Is that good, baby?" I'd asked before taking him in my mouth, daring him to plead for more.

Harry bit his bottom lip and nodded. His brow furrowed while he watched intently as I continued to tease him, licking and sucking at a maddeningly slow pace. I'd missed the sound of him moaning my name, the groans and whimpers he made as he got closer to his edge. I looked up to see the tattoos on his torso move as his stomach clenched and his chest rose and fell, and I saw the look of desire, lust, and love glazing over his eyes, and the way the dimple on the right side of his face appeared while he smiled down at me. I'd missed it all.

When finally my own need grew too much, and I ached to feel him in me again, I moved to sit on him. His mouth had fallen open and his eyes had rolled back as he'd gradually felt my warmth enclose around his thoroughly teased cock. I didn't move at first, just sat and felt him throb inside me, taking great pleasure in the blissful twitches his tummy made every time I clenched around him.

"Fuck, Lil," he said, sitting up so he could kiss me, one hand flat on the bed while the other went to the back of my neck, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too."

Lips locked, and chest to chest, I rode him to his release. My fingers sank into his hair, and I pulled it lightly as I breathed in his moans. There had stopped being any upper hand at that point. Intimacy replaced any game of power, both wanting nothing more than to be as close as possible.

"I'm going to say this a lot, so get used to it," Harry said, his breath slowly returning to normal. He placed both hands on either side of my face, and looked deep into my eyes, "I really fucking love you, Layla James, and..."

He paused, eyes twinkling as they roamed my face.

"And...?"

He hadn't finished his answer, just kissed me again and pulled me down so I was fully on top of him.

  
The creak of my bedroom door opening, and the familiar tip-tapping sound of Stan walking across the wooden floor, woke me from my snooze. He stopped by my side of the bed and meowed loudly for his breakfast, unimpressed that for the second day in a row, he'd heard my alarm go off and I hadn't gotten up immediately to feed him.

Harry's head popped up, and his face split into an almost childlike grin, "You have a cat?!"

He leaned over me and patted the bed, making some noises to beckon Stan up, but the ginger tabby was not interested. Stan looked at Harry, then at me as if to say, 'who the hell is that?', then decided to jump up and come take a closer look. Knowing my cat, and knowing how hard it was to resist Harry, I knew full well it wouldn't take long before the cold, aloof act would be dropped.

"His name is Stanley, and he's very grumpy." I stroked under Stan's chin, and he started to purr, flopping his body against Harry's chest. "One of the girls I work with, her kitten managed to get out of the house and she got pregnant, so I took this little terror. He answers to: Stan, Stanners, Moo Moo, The Stanasaurus Rex or, and this is Dee's favourite, Stanalanading-dong."

Harry laughed as he reached up to pull me close, mumbling against my lips with a smile, "God, you're adorable, and a little bit weird. My beautiful, crazy cat-lady."

As I'd expected, Stan slid down between us and rolled onto his back so Harry could rub his tummy, looking up at him, and still trying to work out who this stranger was. He lay there happily, purring loudly, and trying his best to pad and flex his claws on my boob until he suddenly seemed to remember why he'd come upstairs. Wriggling his furry little body around until he was back on his feet, he let out a long, furious meow in my face. Harry covered his mouth to stifle his laughter, "That's you told!"

"Isn't it just!" With a light slap on Harry's bare bottom, I got up out of bed and threw on some pyjamas.

The angry meows continued as I followed Stan downstairs, despite my insistence that I was about to do what he was whining for. In the kitchen, I fed the master of the house his breakfast then made tea to take up to Harry. I smiled to myself, and my stomach flipped knowing he was upstairs, in my bed, naked and waiting for me to return.

As I'd driven home the night before, I had honestly thought that we would never be like that again. Our argument had been nasty and hateful, throwing the sort of low blows and spite that came from two people who'd once been in love. In my mind, the words we'd thrown had been indicative that there wasn't anything left between us other than a lustful residue, but the moment he'd kissed me, everything had started to feel like it was falling into its rightful place.

There was no doubt that we needed to sit down and have a serious talk about what we both wanted. I was a few months away from turning thirty-five, and I wanted children. I couldn't really afford a throw away relationship with a twenty-four year old who didn't want the same things as me. My relationship with Joel had ended because I wanted someone who made me as happy as Harry did, but that didn't mean I would just settle for Harry at the cost of everything else. He had told me he wanted what I did, but I found it hard to believe, and as un-romantic as it was to have that conversation right at the very beginning of a relationship, I had to be practical.

Hearing footsteps on the landing brought me back from my thoughts, and I grabbed two cups whilst readying my smile for Harry's appearance at the kitchen doorway.

"Hello," he mumbled gruffly, tiredly rubbing one of his eyes with the heel of his palm as he smiled at me.

"Hi! I'm making some tea, or would you rather coffee?" I asked with an amused smile.

He'd put on my winter dressing-gown, which had hung on the back of my bedroom door. It was bright turquoise with rubber ducks printed all over, and he wore it with the hood up so he had two little teddy bear ears.

"I need coffee please, and I'm keeping this." He rubbed his hands along his chest, proud of his get up, and wincing as his bare feet stepped onto the cold kitchen tiles. I wondered if he'd tried on my bunny slippers but had found them to be too small. "Do I not look adorable?"

"It really suits you, H, but it's staying here."

Coming to stand in front of me, he placed his hands on the counter behind me, and softly bumped his nose against mine, "I'd really like to have dinner with you tonight, with Rose and Dionne, too."

"You would?" My face split into a beaming smile. Despite knowing we were taking things slow, I wanted him to meet two of the most important people to me properly.

"Mmhmm, but..." Harry continued ominously, and I prepared my reaction to his polite decline. Even his body pressing against mine and the soft kiss on my lips was not enough to fully distract me. "... I was thinking. I need to go home and change, so instead of me driving home and having to leave you, why don't you come with me? We can talk while we're there, then come back here for dinner, and I'll help you cook."

"Oh! Oh." It hadn't been the reply I was expecting, but I wasn't sure if it was a good thing.

So, we'd go to his house, have a long discussion and realise things weren't going to work out, then I'd drive home alone to cry into my Bolognese sauce? I shared his sentiment about not wanting to be apart just yet, and it had been my idea that we talk, but I had expected him to avoid doing so for a little longer. I was enjoying the happiness of just being with him.

My lacklustre reaction caught him off guard, and he frowned. "Or, we don't have to talk at all yet? I just thought we should do it sooner rather than later."

The click of the kettle coming to a boil was a welcome tension breaker. I turned away and busied myself, taking the few seconds to gather my thoughts. I really couldn't see the conversation going like I wanted, and all I could picture was me sobbing into my meal while Rose and Dee wished they were at home on their rare Friday night off together. Ripping off the plaster was the sensible thing to do, but I wasn't ready to be sad again just yet.

However, delaying the conversation was only going to make the inevitable worse.

"Okay," I said, turning to him and handing him his cup, "we'll drink these and then go."

 


	35. Would You Believe

We headed to Harry's just before midday. I dug out the clothes he'd given me to wear years ago, the ones I’d worn after the one night I had stayed at his place, so he didn't have to wear the shirt he'd been wearing with its missing buttons. At first, he didn’t seem to notice that the jogging bottoms and hoodie were his, he just silently put them on with an expression that seemed to suggest he thought they might be Joel’s. When I mentioned that they were his, Harry stayed quiet and didn’t ask why I had kept them. I didn’t tell him that I had worn them for two weeks solid after we’d broken up, or that when they’d lost his scent, I hadn’t thrown them away. I’d just washed them, folded them up, and hid them, hoping that Joel never found them or asked whose they were.

That moment of brief awkwardness had passed quickly, and instead Harry and I focused on the fact we could actually leave the house together without any concerns about being seen. There was no strategic plans, and no sneaking around, we simply got into my car and set off unbothered!

The day was bright and crisp, cold but with a hint that spring was just around the corner, and considering what we were going to do, Harry and I were in high spirits. We enthusiastically sang along to the radio - him sounding remarkably better than I, of course - and he gesticulated wildly as he serenaded me. It was nice to just be silly with him, to laugh and joke, and have my face ache from grinning constantly. I didn't even mind him making fun of me for my nineties pop music playlist as he scrolled through it, cackling loudly as he chose the cheesiest _Steps_ song.

"Harry, I was there!" I said, trying to defend the music of my teenage years. There had been little I enjoyed during that time, but fourteen year old me had found a deep love of music in those years. "The nineties were a different time, a simpler time. _Steps_ were cool! In fact, you were a loser in my school if you didn't know the dance moves."

Clutching his stomach with one hand, and his head thrown back, Harry laughed hard and unrestrained at the country music/techno crossover as it filled the car. 

"I'm sorry, baby," he said, trying to contain his giggles, "I'm sure little, teenage Layla was incredibly cool trying to learn the moves."

"She was!" I side-eyed him as we pulled up to a set of traffic lights, thoroughly enjoying the sound of his belly laugh. Singing as loud and out of tune as I could to ' _5,6,7,8_ ', I proceeded to demonstrate my knowledge of the dance moves as best as I could at the wheel of a car. Harry erupted into a fresh wave of laughter as I put both hands together as a gun, pointed them to one side and then the other, then waved my left hand as though throwing a lasso before mirroring the move with my right hand. Joining in with his giggles, I focused back on driving, and shrugged, "Don't hate me because I'm probably a better dancer than you."

"Hey! You've never seen me dance!" 

"I've seen you leap around on stage and wave about like one of those inflatable things you see in American car lots."

He let out a mock gasp, frowning as though offended. "Low blow, Lil. Low. Blow."

The affectionate mocking continued until we neared his home. It wasn't until I drove through his security gates and parked on the gravel in front of his house that we fell silent, remembering the reason we'd driven there. 

Placing one hand on my knee, and the other cradling my jaw, Harry leaned in close and we kissed. It was unsaid, but I knew that like me he was wondering if it would be the last time we'd kiss, if it was going to be our last moment of happiness before it all fell apart again. There would be no point in dragging things out when we inevitably realised we wanted different things. I'd drive us back to mine, we’d say our final goodbyes, then he'd leave straight away in his car, and we'd be done for good. It didn't matter how much we loved each other, or how right everything felt, we'd have to finally, really accept that he and I just weren’t meant to be.

Thinking about it made me want to cry. It already felt like we'd never been apart, and though I knew I'd get over it like I'd done before, I wasn't looking forward to having to do it again, especially so soon after Joel.

Inside, the house hadn't really changed much since I'd been there last. There were a few different pictures on the wall in the hallway, and I was sure the spider plant was new, but mostly it was the same. 

"Do you want any tea or anything? Water?" Harry asked, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat. Following suit, I placed my shoes next to his and suppressed the ache in my chest seeing them next to each other, looking so… at home. 

"No, I'm fine for now, thank you."

Phone in hand, he smiled at it then looked up at me, "Did you tell Will last night was a disaster?"

"No, I told Rose it was," I chuckled and checked my own phone and saw three missed calls and a message from Will, all in caps, asking what had happened. "I take it you've been bombarded too?"

"Oh yes! Mainly from Rose." His grimace said everything, so I made a mental note that when I explained later what actually happened, I'd get her to apologise. Whether we were still together, or not.

"I'm sorry. News travels fast, I guess. But serves 'em right for sticking their nose in my business."

"It's okay." Harry said quietly, adding with a shrug, "but, if it makes you feel any better, Rose was really reluctant to help me, and if they hadn't, then we wouldn't be together now."

"I think we can both agree that neither of us have worked out if that's a good thing yet."

He gave a barely visible nod and changed the subject, "I'm going upstairs to grab a shower and change, you can come join me if you like?"

"In the shower? Or just upstairs?" Raising an eyebrow, I hoped to lighten the mood again and was relieved when his mouth curved into a suggestive smile.

"I meant upstairs, but now that you've suggested it, you could join me in the shower too." 

"We're meant to be having a serious conversation," I reminded him, placing my hand on his chest to stop his attempt to kiss me, knowing full well that if I didn't we'd just succumb to lust.

The grin became serious, and he stepped back, but took hold of my hand. "Yes, yes, of course, you're right. Still, come upstairs with me anyway, yeah?"

Reluctantly, I agreed and followed him up the stairs. It was hard just being near him and not snogging his face off like we were both horny teenagers. I wasn't sure I could trust myself not to jump his bones in a room with a bed. It had been the case years before - self-control and I were not the best of friends when it came to Harry.

He started to undress as soon as he stepped foot in his bedroom, pulling the hooded sweatshirt up over his head and throwing it onto the immaculately made bed. Sitting down next to it, I pulled the hoodie onto my lap and fought the urge to sniff it. I could feel his warmth on the fabric, and knew it would once again smell like him. I was suddenly struck with a small knot of fear in my chest, knowing that if we did decide to part ways, I would no longer have anything of his to ease the ache. 

Wrapping the cord that ran through the hood around my index finger, I watched the man I loved wander around the room naked. His back and behind displayed a few marks - on the right cheek of his ass I could see four finger-tip shaped bruises, which were a result of my grabbing it to pull him deeper. With a twisted pride, I liked having left my mark on him, especially considering all the times he'd done the same to me. I also noticed for the first time that his behind was rounder and perkier than it had been in the past. 

Harry spotted me watching him and came and stood, naked, in front of me. He placed his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me back down onto the bed. Leaning over me, he pressed his lips to mine. 

"I'll be quick," he muttered. Kiss lingering, he raised his knee and let it rest between my thighs, hoping it would tempt me. It almost did. I reached and stroked his inner thigh, and felt a leap of excitement when he moaned into my mouth. "Sure you won't join me?"

"Go get your shower," I giggled, pushing him away as an undesired heat formed where his knee rested. "I'm going to rest my eyes, and then we're going to have our talk."

"Fiiine," sighing with a pout, he kissed the tip of my nose and stood up, his arousal clearly visible.

Watching him walk into the bathroom, I put on the hoodie he'd worn, and moved to the middle of the bed to lay down. My eyes stung from tiredness, having only had three or four hours sleep, and Harry's bed was so comfortable on my aching bones. I had no intention of falling asleep, I just wanted to rest my eyes (rest my eyes? Yeah, pull the other one, Layla!). I could hear Harry singing in the shower, the song echoing and mixing with the sound of running water, and I lay wondering what on earth I would say to him when he came back. I lay and savoured the last, perfect moments we might have together, knowing that our end was nigh, and there would be very little chance of us reconciling ever again. 

  


The feel of gentle kisses on my temple woke me from my nap, and I felt Harry's hand on the small of my back, rubbing small circles as he whispered my name. Thinking I'd only been asleep for a couple of minutes, I was surprised when I opened my eyes to see that not only was he was no longer naked, but his hair was completely dry too.

"How long was I asleep for?" I mumbled, rolling onto my back and blinking at the sunlight sleepily. 

"Only an hour, it's not even one yet so don't worry. I had to make a phone call so I thought I'd let you sleep a little longer." His smile was soft as he stroked his hand up my leg then gently patted my behind three times on a spot he knew wasn’t tender. "But, it's time to get up, sleepyhead! Let's get this conversation over and done with."

Harry’s cheerfulness was confusing to me. I knew he was taking all of this seriously but he seemed to find it all so very amusing. He was being so… breezy about the whole thing, as though we were just going to discuss what we were going to have for dinner later. It did make me question if his behaviour was an indication that he hadn't really grown up at all. I wished I had his confidence, that I could even pretend I wasn't worried about the outcome. He was acting like this was some sort of movie, a rom-com where we were about to discover that despite the pain, love conquers all! He'd shown me that what had happened between us had well and truly changed him, but his happy manner now replaced the reality that had been palpable between us as we’d argued. We'd been so open and so raw as we'd finally laid some hidden cards on the table. 

It didn't feel like there would be any of that raw honesty when I went downstairs to join him in the living room (the very same living room he'd confessed to cheating on me in). I expected to have him try to paper over the cracks, to pretend that everything was magically fixed because we'd had sex and spent the morning being silly together. 

I expected Harry to hold back his feelings, that he would be reluctant to talk about the past.

I was wrong.  



	36. Stone In My Shoe

It was my idea to sit and talk, and be honest about what we wanted, but walking into the living room and seeing Harry sat on the plush, cream sofa, with a cup of hot water and lemon in his hand, it was me who suddenly felt reluctant to ruin the good time we were having. There were so many things we needed to talk about, but everything felt so comfortable with him, and I didn't want that to end.

Sitting next to him, we both turned at the same time to face each other. My mind instantly went blank, and looking down at my hands, the only thought I could come up with was that I didn't like the nail polish colour I'd chosen. I'd spent so long going over what I would say to him if ever I got the opportunity to speak to him in this way, but now I didn't know where to begin. I loved him, I wanted to be with him, but I couldn't see how it would ever work between us.

"Are you okay?" He asked, gently encouraging me. "Where would you like to start?"

Scratching the top of my head and grimacing over having to say the words, I forced myself to say, "Uh...well, I guess we should start with me cutting you out of my life."

Harry nodded slowly and placed his cup down onto the floor before turning to fix his green-eyed gaze on me. The sunshine pouring in from the window highlighted the colour of his irises, seeming to make them sparkle while he looked at me intensely. As if the moment wasn't hard enough, he had to rub salt in the wound by looking ethereal and breathtakingly beautiful while I felt scrunched up with sleep and confusion from my nap. Sighing, I leant back against the arm of the sofa and resolved that we could have this discussion without me crying.

"Okay then. Why? Why did you kick me out?"

There was an edge to his voice, one that gave away the pain he felt. I'd heard it when we'd fought the night before, and I'd heard it on the nights he'd called through my letterbox, pleading with me to talk to him.

"You broke my heart, Harry," I said eventually, "I mean, you told me you loved me, asked me to leave Will to be with you, and then you left me. Ten months later, I went against my better judgement because I was fragile and believed you when you said you were sorry, and I forgave you. I even told you I loved you back. And then you cheated on me." He blinked slowly, the regret and pain in his eyes making him run his hands through his hair, but he made no effort to deny or defend. "I felt like I couldn't live without you. After the way Will had treated me, and how loving and kind you were, I sort of ignored all the shit you were putting me through too. But that night, with the fight, and me telling you about my family, it was a wake up call. Every step of my life, I was jumping from one toxic situation to the other, and I'd had enough."

Dredging up the past was horrible, bringing up all the feelings I'd already dealt with that made me want to get up, get in my car, and leave, never looking back. But, it was written all over Harry's face that he was mortified, ashamed, and devastated by his behaviour, and how it had made me feel.

I reached my hand out to touch his knee, and he shifted closer as I continued, "We were becoming toxic, and that was the last thing I wanted us to be. We were clinging to how we'd felt at the beginning, to the lust, and the lies, and to the secrets."

"I didn't want to lose you, Lil, or hurt you. I was just... scared, and overwhelmed."

"And I didn't want to lose you either! I'm sure you probably imagined that I cast you aside without a second thought, but that wasn't the case." Picking up his hand, I kissed the back of it, and once again tried not to cry. "Pushing you away was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, it brought up a lot of feelings I'd been burying, and it nearly broke me, but I had to do it. I'd sort of forgotten that you were only twenty, that really you were still a kid. I was putting you in a situation that you weren't ready for."

That had been the problem with our relationship before. I'd expected him to behave like he was my age, to handle things the way I would. However, in reality, he was only just out of his teens, and though his maturity level was miles beyond most people his age, any man of any age would have struggled with everything that was going on with my life at that time. It had taken me a lot of time, and a lot of therapy sessions, to accept that I should have seen the problems coming.

"I wish I'd dealt with it better," Harry said sadly, "I wish I'd talked to you before I..."

"Yeah, I regret how I handled it too."

Those words hung in the air, and we let them have their moment.

Then he asked, "Do you regret us? Me? You thought I did, but do you? Last night you said you did."

My reply came before he could finish. I'd asked myself that same question a lot so the answer was easy.

"Last night, I was angry. I regret what happened at the end, but I don't regret you, or us. You made me sadder than I'd ever been as an adult, and you hurt me beyond belief, but you also reminded me that I could be happier than I was, reminded me of what I was worth, and gave me the confidence and courage to leave Will." With a watery smile, I added, "regardless of whether today is the end or beginning for us, I'll never regret you. I wouldn't have the life I have now if we hadn't been together."

"Do you want this to be the end of us? Was last night just about closure?" He looked scared, the fear he'd made a mistake by chasing me out of the restaurant flitting across his face as he pinched his bottom lip and looked away. The hurt between us was so deep, the trust so irrevocably damaged, that for a moment I considered telling him that I didn't think we should try again. But, I couldn't. I wanted to try again, more than anything.

"I guess, that's really up to you. Putting it bluntly, I am at a point in my life where I don't really want a fling, so it's really about whether you're ready to make the commitment I need or not. Just you and me, in an adult relationship, open and honest. That's what I want, do you?"

Harry twisted his upper body to reach under the cushion he'd been leaning against, and pulled out a small, red and gold box. I could see it was old, the thin gold pattern was missing in places, and there were small, loose threads around parts of the edges. My heart leapt to my throat, my stomach dropped, and my eyes became wide and round like saucers.

"You don't have to look so panicked!" He laughed nervously, hand trembling slightly.

Responding with my own nervous laugh, I squeaked, "How do you want me to look?!"

I held my breath as he opened the box and showed me what was inside. As I'd suspected, there was what clearly looked like an engagement ring. It was a flower shaped cluster of diamonds, all set in gold, and it sparkled brightly in the sunlight.

"I want to be with you, Layla, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart." I couldn't look at him, I just looked at the ring, my mouth agape and frantically searching for an answer to any question he was about to ask. "I'm not proposing, Lil."

"Harry! What the..." Lightly slapping his arm, I clutched my chest and exhaled. "Why would you scare me like that?!"

"Wow, Lil, you sure know how to make a guy feel special." Despite his serious tone, I hoped he was joking, but I could see he was hurt by my reaction, and I felt terrible.

"Harry, I'm sorry." Leaning forward, I kissed his cheek, but he remained still and silent. "You just... shocked me, that's all. Honestly, I've imagined this conversation in my head so many times, and not once did any scenario involve you pulling out what I'm guessing is an engagement ring?"

For a second, Harry closed his eyes and set his expression to neutral. I was worried I'd really upset him, and that worry grew when he opened his eyes and I saw he was trying not to cry. Before I got the chance to apologise again, he snapped the ring box closed and held it up so it was at equal eye level between us. Emphasising what would be the foundation of our new relationship.

"I'm not proposing, Layla. Yet." He said with a soft, loving smile that brought a lump to my throat. "The reason I'm showing you this -it belonged to my grandmother- is so you know that I am completely and utterly in love with you, and I always have been. The first time I saw you, standing alone, looking pissed off and a little sad, I knew then that you were meant to be in my life. I have thought about you first thing in the morning and last thing at night ever since that night, some days you're all I can think about. There is not one single second I've spent with you that I regret. From bumping into you in that cafe when you were seriously hungover, to the look of horror on your face at the prospect of me proposing. Okay, so maybe I regret that last moment a little." We both chuckled, and I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the tips of my fingers. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before putting the red velvet box in my hands, clasping them closed tightly in his, and bringing them up to his chest. His heart was beating frantically, and the look on his face mirrored my own unabashed adoration.

"All those moments, even the times I had to see you with Will, or we weren't talking, they were all leading up to this. To a time when we are both ready. If you're ready, then so am I." Harry shifted forward and rested his forehead against mine, both our hands still against his heart. I wasn't the only one crying now, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to stay composed and keep his voice steady. "The one regret I'll ever have about us, is that I hurt you. I will happily spend the rest of our lives making up for everything I did, if you ask me to. Living without you was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, the pain of knowing I'd fucked everything up because I was stupidly listening to everyone else, it was unbearable. But our hands, and our future, on my heart, I am so sorry for what I did to you. I was young, and stupid, and scared by how much I felt for you. Which isn't an excuse, but it's the reason why. I thought I was protecting you, keeping you from how ugly my life can be sometimes, but I only isolated you and made you think I was ashamed of you. I was never, ever ashamed of you. You, Ms Layla Winifred James,  _you_  are the love of my life, my soulmate, and there is nobody I want to be with more than you."

No wonder he'd been so cheerful and almost blasé all morning! He'd had the ring and the apology ready all along, waiting for the right moment to prove he was ready for the commitment. I was overwhelmed by his words, unsure how to react any other way than to cry, and my thoughts were racing. Standing up, I walked to the window and looked for an answer. I wanted him, more than anything, but there was still so much hurt between us. Getting back together would be fine and dandy up until the moment I started to worry he'd cheat on me again, or he would worry I'd cut him out again with no word of warning if he made the smallest of mistakes.

"Lil?" Harry's voice sounded small and was thick with emotion. Once again, I was reminded of being sat at the top of the stairs in my old house, listening to him at my door, hearing him beg and plead for me to listen to him.

Taking a deep breath, and wiping the tears from my face, I turned back around and looked at him. Really looked at him. He looked like he had during the early days of our affair, but more mature and less innocent to the world. He'd been completely open with me, but as he started to consider that there was a good chance I was going to reject him, I could see the wall of protection he'd had at the party going back up, brick by brick.

I spoke before he could completely rebuild his guard,"I want this to be a fresh start."

He waited for the 'but', chewing his lip nervously in the silence while expecting me to continue on about wanting different things. Legs shaking, I went and sat back down in front of him. Tears brimmed his eyes, and I could see he was finding it harder and harder to keep himself cold. So, I grabbed hold of his face and I kissed him. I gave him everything I had in that one kiss: my love, my heart, my soul, my life. It took a second for him to respond, to get over the sudden change, but then he wrapped his arms around my waist and enveloped me in his warmth and his love.

"Is this what you want?" He mumbled against my lips, "Or is this a... goodbye?"

"It's what I want, you're what I want." Relief washed his face, and he exhaled loudly with a grin. But, the joy was short lived as I added, "there is just one thing that we need to talk about before we decide to do this properly."

"Anything," Harry said with a soft smile. "I'll do anything."

"I want a baby."


	37. Helpless Blues

Rose and Dee arrived at mine shortly after seven o'clock, and like all good guests, they brought wine and chocolate cake with them.

Walking into the hallway like two curious but wary cats, they looked around for any sign of the disaster I'd mentioned. I knew they were expecting me to be a drunken, bawling wreck, and to find the house in a mess thanks to my throwing things (the living room carpet wasn't the only thing to have been destroyed the night I threw Harry out, I'd also had to buy a few new glasses, plates, and get my phone screen mended from when it hit the wall because Harry kept calling).

"Your eyes are red." Stopping dead in her tracks, Rose narrowed her eyes at me and scrutinised me for any signs of an impending meltdown. "Have you been crying?"

"A little, but," I let out a small, melancholic sigh and shrugged at her, "It's okay. I'm fine, I promise. I just... I had a really long night, I didn't get a lot of sleep, and also... onions."

The couple exchanged openly sceptical glances and frowned in unison, but neither of them said anything or questioned me any further. Knowing she held a grape-based truth serum in her hand, Rose changed the subject to work, and then they both followed me into the kitchen. It was inevitable that the gory details would come spilling out over dinner anyway.

I poured some more red wine into the simmering tomato sauce, gave it a stir, and let Rose fill me in on what I'd missed on my day off - a new client who wanted a six year old themed party for her twenty sixth birthday -including a bouncy castle, champagne flavoured jelly and ice cream, and a pony ride- and a go-ahead from the venue for a party for Harry's friend, Nick Grimshaw.

"Oh," I said, grimacing, "I'd forgotten about that. I... I might not be able to work that one. Vicky would be okay doing it though, right?"

Rose opened her mouth, but it was Dee who suddenly demanded, "Layla! Will you please tell us what the fuck happened last night or I am going to scream!"

I picked up the red wine, but this time I poured it directly into my mouth. Normally, I used it purely for cooking, but it was the closest alcohol at hand, and I needed something to help me find the words to tell them what had happened. It hadn't been that long since I'd left Harry's house, but it already felt like a lifetime ago. What a difference an afternoon made.

"It was... dreadful." Bottom lip trembling, I looked down at the floor and tried not to cry. "We had this god-awful fight outside the restaurant, said some really horrible things to each other, and then I told him I didn't ever want to see or hear from him again. I think we both realised that there's nothing left to salvage between us this time, that we're two very different people who want very different things."

Deliberately leaving out the rest of what happened, I forced a smile and turned to pull out plates from the cupboard. I wanted to keep those brief moments of happiness we had shared for myself. I saw no point in sharing it with anyone else. Not just yet, anyway.

"Are you sure?" I could hear the confusion in Rose's voice, and I suspected that maybe she'd known about the engagement ring, maybe it was what had made her agree to help Harry. Joel proposing had woken me up to what I truly wanted from a relationship, and so had Harry when he'd almost done the same. Or rather, me telling Harry that I wanted a baby had driven it home to him that I needed something serious. "I... I'm so sorry, Lil, I really thought you had a chance this time."

"I did too."

"Isn't there any way you could make it work?" Dee asked, looking equally as confused as her girlfriend. "Maybe dinner somewhere public wasn't the best place. Did he explain that he wanted to start again? From scratch?"

A knock on the door saved me from answering. My two friends looked so disappointed and confused, and a little bit angry, that I almost felt bad for lying straight to their faces, for getting back at them for interfering with my relationships, and for obviously knowing more than they'd let on.

"That might be Will," I lied, again. "He said he might come 'round."

I left Rose and Dee to mutter about what had gone wrong and went to answer the door, knowing full well who'd be on the other side of it.

"Hey, baby," Harry beamed at me from the doorstep, a shopping bag in hand. He stepped inside and gave me a kiss, humming with satisfaction as he did so. "Sorry, I took so long, I got stopped and asked for photos, but I got everything you needed."

Taking the bag from Harry, and looking inside at the items he'd offered to go get from the supermarket while I tricked Rose and Dee, I said loudly, "Thanks, Harry!"

There were two loud yelps from the kitchen, followed by the scraping sound of chairs being quickly pushed back along the tiles. I expected to see the pair of them appear, yelling profanities at me, but there was no sign, just frantic, hushed whispers that got louder as Harry and I approached. As I took hold of his hand, Harry and I grinned at each other, unable to resist the urge to kiss again. My friends fell silent when they saw us by the door, Harry's arm moving around my shoulder as he kissed the top of my head. I saw a range of emotions on Rose's face, and though I was terrified that she was furious with me, I couldn't stop smiling.

"Ladies, you remember Harry, don't you?"

Rose went to throw a bread roll at my head but, thankfully, Dee stopped her.

**°**

"I want a baby."

It had been Harry's turn to look panicked, his eyes wide and mouth clamped shut in a straight line. He looked just as ready to bolt for the door as I had done at the sight of the engagement ring.

"Your face is a picture right now," I laughed and shook my head - so much for ready for anything. "Look, I'm not saying let's get back together and you knock me up. But, it's something I'm going to want in a year or two, and I need you to know that. I don't want us making the commitment to trying to make this work properly for you to freak out when I start charting my temperature and scheduling when we can and can't have sex."

"I'll be honest, Lil, the idea terrifies me," he admitted. "But, I want you to be the mother of my children."

If life had a soundtrack, that would have been where the record scratched to a stop. He looked scared shitless, but he'd said he wanted me to be the mother of his children with such certainty that in the split second it took to draw breath an respond, I felt the smallest glimmer of happiness. He did want me to be the mother of his children, and he didn't want to run to the hills screaming at the mere thought. It made me happy, but did it give me hope? Not so much.

"It terrifies me too. It's not ideal, or how I'd like to do things, but at my age there is a time limit on certain stuff. I wish we could just take our time, maybe move in together, get a kitten for Stan to play with before all the rest."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and I wondered if what I'd asked was too much. I didn't want to rush him to settle down before he was ready, but I also couldn't pretend that I didn't have my own plans and intentions. I wanted the best for him, but I also wanted it for me too.

"Is it too much, Harry? Please say if it is, I want you to be honest."

He shook his head, "No. It's a lot, but it's not too much."

The mood in the room felt sombre, and just like he had, I felt myself start to put up my wall of protection. For a moment, everything had felt perfect, like I was on the edge of real happiness, but the feeling was fading, and I was now cursing our age difference.

"Would you want to get married first?" He asked suddenly. "Do it traditionally?"

Blinking at him in surprise, I said, "Uh... no. Would You? Your public image and all that?"

Harry looked down at the box in his hand and laughed quietly to himself. Opening it up, he stared at the ring for a couple of beats before snapping the lid shut and standing up. He muttered about needing to go find something, then left the room with a deep, furrowed frown, leaving me to crumble over how the conversation was unfolding. A semi proposal, and a talk of babies - not exactly the stuff of a lighthearted reconciliation. But, it didn't feel like there was going to be a reconciliation anymore, it felt like the beginning of end, our relationship coming to a pathetic, fizzled out stop.

I'd asked too much, I had known it would be too much, too soon for him, and he was just confirming that. I just had to prepare and accept that when Harry returned from wherever he'd disappeared to -most likely to have his own meltdown- there was a strong possibility it would be to tell me he didn't want the same as me.

Suddenly, I heard him call, "Lil, can you come upstairs, please?"

Confused, but mostly curious, I did as I was told and headed up the stairs.

I found Harry in the spare room, sat on the edge of a bed, with a cardboard box next to him, looking through a photo album. He didn't look up when I walked in, hovering nervously by the door, but he patted the bed on the other side of the box. We didn't make eye contact until I sat down, and then the look he gave me made my stomach flip.

"I took some of this from my mum's house, I thought they'd make this place feel more like home," he said, reaching into the box and pulling out a pair of pale blue baby shoes. He handed them over, dropped the box on the floor, and moved to sit as close to me as he could, the photo album now open on both our laps. Brushing my hair behind my ear, he kissed my temple and mumbled against it, "we're going to have the cutest children."

I started to cry. To sob, in fact. Clutching the baby shoes, mementos of his childhood, against my chest, I looked down and saw through blurred, watery vision that the photo album was open on a picture of a sleeping newborn, labelled 'Harry'.

The three days he'd been back in my life had been a rollercoaster, and I hadn't been able to allow myself to see a positive ending. I'd worked hard on trying to believe that I was worthy of the good things that happened to me, but he was the best, and I couldn't imagine that I deserved him, I couldn't imagine him truly choosing me. We'd had similar moments, declarations of devotion, which had gone wrong at the time, and yet as he stroked my back, kissing my cheek and letting his own tears flow, I knew this moment was different. We were both in it for the long haul, ready to face everything and everyone, side by side.

"Are you sure?" Sniffling, I reached for his hand and leant against him. "I don't what you to do anything if you don't want it one hundred percent."

"I want you to be the mother of my children, Layla, whether that happens next year, or we have to wait. I want you, and I want what you want."

"What about your family, and the friends who knew about me? Do they still hate me?"

Harry shook his head, "No, they don't hate you. Gemma said she really liked you when you met at that party, though she didn't tell me this until a couple of weeks ago. They want to meet you properly and get to know you, especially Mum."

"Okay, okay, that makes me feel a little better." Wiping my eyes, I exhaled loudly and let go of all the stress and worry I'd been holding onto all morning. I turned to look at Harry, letting him see all the love I felt for him without needing to hide it away, and I was met with the same look.

We agreed to take things slowly, but that was purely so we could try to have the things we'd missed out on in the beginning. We would go on dates, focus on romance, and get to know each other again, properly. Sex was off the table completely, nothing further than kissing and holding hands, and though we agreed that would be hard, we also knew that it would be worth it. The goal of a life together was mutual, and we were at last in full control of how that happened. He wanted to do it right, and so did I.

As we set out our expectations and wishes for the relationship, I confessed to still being wary of being married again. Will and I were fine, all of the negative feelings left far behind us, but the marriage had left its scars. I wanted to marry Harry, but just like we'd agreed to wait with having a baby, we also decided to wait at least a year to seriously consider marriage. His preference was to be married before we had children, but he had understood when I'd told him I was in no rush to walk up the aisle again. Even for him.

I felt happy as we left to drive back to mine, positive for our future, and I felt hopeful that things would be better between us than they were before.

**°**

There were moments over dinner where I would pinch myself in disbelief at what I was seeing. It felt like a dream. I was waiting for reality to creep in, for the dream to fade until I found myself alone, in bed, and with my alarm ringing, telling me it was Monday morning. If someone had told the old Layla that one day she'd be sat in her own kitchen, sharing a meal with Harry, Rose, and Dee, she would have laughed and laughed, thinking it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. I was relieved that Will and Terry hadn't been invited, or I'd have truly thought I was losing the plot!

"You okay?" Harry asked, placing his hand on my knee and squeezing it.

"Absolutely."

Beaming with happiness, I leaned over to kiss him. As our lips met, Rose let out an uncharacteristic squeal, making us both jump. Eyebrows raised, I looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

"Oh, stop!" she blushed, leaning against Dee, who giggled as she hugged Rose fondly. "I am allowed to be excited for you both! Even  _my_  cynical heart can see how bloody besotted you both are. Give me a week and I'll be making sick noises and telling you to get a room, don't worry!"

I looked at Harry, and he looked at me, his dimpled grin matching mine. Words failed me. I had never felt such unbridled love for someone as I did for him, and though it scared me, it also felt exciting.

"Rose," he said, "I'm head over heels."

Leaning over to kiss him, I gave my friends the finger as they both 'aww'ed. It felt odd to be so tactile with him in front of other people, having never been able to before, but I liked it, I liked finally being able to be free with him.

"So," Dee said, taking the last piece of garlic bread, which Harry had made ("Baby! I used to be a baker, of course I know how to make it!"). She took a bite out of it, and smiled, "what's next for 'Hayla'? Do I need to buy a hat?"

Rose snorted into her wine and proceeded to cough and splutter whilst also laughing like a loon. 

"Hayla!" She laughed, "I'm using that!"

I looked at Harry, worried that maybe he'd be slightly offended by their joke, but he was smiling and shaking his head. Catching me looking at him, he shrugged matter of factly, "It's probably what my fans are going to call us, y'know?"

"Lucky you changed your name, Lil, or you'd be called 'Stench'," Dee giggled, enjoying making Rose laugh to the point of tears.

Groaning, I heard Harry chuckling, and I nudged him lightly, "Don't laugh, you'll only encourage them and make them think they're funny."

I got up from the table to clear away plates, and he got up to help. Every time we crossed paths, he kissed my forehead as though he was paying some sort of toll. The feeling of ease and domesticity gave me a warm sensation in my stomach, it was as though we'd been doing it for years.


	38. History

I decided to go tell Will about Harry and I, face to face on the Monday morning. He'd left both of us messages all weekend, trying to find out what had happened when we met, and why Rose had said it was a disaster. I felt it was only fair to give him an explanation in person, before he turned up on my doorstep demanding an answer.

Walking into his office building, I realised the gnawing feeling I'd had all morning was nerves. Despite Will having had a major hand in getting Harry and I back together, there was a worry he'd be angry or upset. I knew logically that he would be happy for us, but old habits die hard, and I was struggling to quell the no longer needed fear I had of my ex-husband. Those scars again.

Whilst I signed myself in as a visitor, I heard a voice I had hoped I wouldn't have to hear.

"Hello, Layla."

Joel's voice was cold, and when I raised my gaze to look at him, his usually warm and welcoming face was too. We hadn't seen each other since January, and even then we had fought because he still hadn't understood why I had ended the relationship just because he'd mentioned Harry Styles. I'd avoided seeing him since, and I'd put off talking to him further, knowing he was angry I had gone to Harry's party.

"Hi," I replied, wondering if he could see the guilty vibes I felt were radiating off me. "I'm... uh, I'm here to see Will. Do you know where he is?"

"He's in his office," he said, nodding to where he'd just come from. His tone went from cold to angry, "nice to see you too."

Huffing, he went to keep walking, but I reached and touched his arm to stop him. I didn't want there to be animosity between us, he'd been so wonderful for me that I owed it to him to let him know I was entirely at fault. I just didn't know how to tell him without it seeming like it had all been done intentionally, like I'd been waiting for the moment to run back to Harry.

"Joel, I'm sorry," I said, tugging him lightly so he'd turn back around. I sighed, "I don't want us to be like this. I just... I just wasn't expecting to see you."

"I work here, Layla, where else would you expect to see me?" Joel shook his head, truly looking at me for the first time. His normally sweet, heavenly brown eyes weren't masking the hurt well, and it was plain to see that keeping the conversation civil was a struggle. It felt impossible, everything I was saying only irritated him further, but if I walked away, he'd be angry too.

"Listen, about the party, I'm sorry about that. The history I have with Harry, it's complicated." He looked bored and uninterested in what I had to say, like he'd already been told about my 'complicated history' too many times already. "I need to talk to Will, but can we-"

"Lil?" Will's voice startled us both, and interrupted me as I was about to ask Joel if we could meet and talk so I could tell him about Harry and I. Coming to stand between us, Will looked at both of us and obviously realised we hadn't been having a friendly chit-chat. "Sorry, did I interrupt something, shall I... go?"

"No, Will, it's fine. I have to get back to work." Joel walked off, muttering, "see you around, Layla."

Seeing he was still upset with me was a crash landing down from cloud nine, and I felt horrible for being happy. Will and I watched as he disappeared down the corridor, and I felt thoroughly miserable.

"I've been trying to call you!" Will said suddenly, pulling me back from what would have been a spiral of guilt and regret. "What happened? Harry's not answering my calls or messages either, and Rose and Dee are being vague and mysterious, telling me things weren't as bad as they thought."

"Can we go to your office? I don't want to talk about it out here." I looked to where Joel had just gone, and he nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, of course."

In his office, the nerves resurfaced, and I fiddled with the tassels on my handbag as he settled into his chair. Seeing my face, he frowned. "Was it that bad?"

"No, I'm just..." Letting out an awkward laugh, I shrugged, "I'm just... nervous."

Will reached the conclusion on his own, and his face split into an almighty grin. He got up and came to sit in the empty chair next to me, looked me dead in the eye, and asked me if Harry and I were together. For some unknown reason, I started to cry as I nodded. He was smiling at me but a part of me was still waiting for him to lash out.

"Lil, why are you crying?" he asked, looking around to see if he had any tissue to hand me, but seeing he didn't, he took off his tie and gave me that instead.

Dabbing my tears with the purple silk, I wailed, "I don't know! I thought you'd be angry!"

"Not to toot my own horn, love, but you wouldn't be back together if it weren't for me. Why would you think I'd be anything but thrilled for you?"

"I guess... uh, I think I'm maybe associating being with him with how you used to be."

"I suppose, I only have myself to blame for that, hm?" His expression became sad, and it was now him who looked close to tears. Inhaling deeply, he wiped his face and reached out to take my hand. "I'm really happy for you, for both of you."

For a little while, Will didn't say anything, just held my hand, stroked my back, and let me cry. It was cathartic to cry freely after an intense three days, and also because my life was so different to how it had been when Harry and I had first been together. Back then, I would never have pictured any of what was happening.

"I'm sorry," I said, regaining my composure, "it's been... a long, long weekend."

We both chuckled as he wiped away a tear journeying down my cheek then wiped it on my sleeve, making us both giggle. Once upon a time, he'd been the cause of most of my tears, but now he was the one who helped stop them. I felt bad for still thinking the worst of him, but we both knew that was to be expected, all things considered.

"Seriously, I'm so happy for you. Are you?"

"Happy?" I asked. Will nodded, sitting back in his chair. "Yeah, I am." I told him what happened, recounting some of the fight and the conversation we'd had at Harry's house. He grinned mischievously when I mentioned the ring. "You knew about that then? Did you give your blessing?"

Will shook his head, "Not me. I'm surprised she didn't tell you, but the ring was the decider for Rose. He showed it to her, well a picture, and that's why she agreed to help him."

"I bloody knew she knew! She didn't say a thing, even when I told her about it. You've both been so bloody sneaky!" Playfully rolling my eyes, I took the compact out of my handbag and checked that my face wasn't too tear-stained. "It's lucky I love you and that everything worked out, isn't it?"

"I'm certainly relieved it did. None of us wanted to betray you or seem like we were being sneaky, and it was never anything to do with Joel. I'm sorry that he's... well, he's not happy." I nodded, sadly, feeling guilty again. "But, you shouldn't feel bad about that, Lil. He will get over it in time."

"I'm going to tell him but I'm not looking forward to it." Grimacing, I tried to put it to the back of my thoughts. "Anyway, I know you wouldn't have found helping Harry easy."

"I knew the moment he called me that it was what he really wanted, so I'd already decided that if he asked, and he was sure he was ready, that I would help him. But, it was on the condition that Rose okayed it, so when she refused, all plans were halted. We both know there's no point in pushing her, and also, she would be the best person to know if you even wanted to see or speak to him-"

Scoffing, I frowned, "I mean... surely I would be the best person?"

Will held up his hands, "I know, I know! But, you were, we thought, happy with Joel. I didn't want to upset you or ruin your relationship because Harry was back on the scene, and then for it to turn out you weren't interested. I love you, I have a lot of making up still to do, and that includes protecting you from unnecessary pain. Had Rose not agreed that there was a chance you'd be willing to at least be in the same room, then I'd have never mentioned it. I'm sorry, if that feels like a betrayal."

"A little. Well... no. It annoys me because... you know how much it means for me to make my own decisions now. Oddly, I have an aversion to things being kept from me," I chuckled, and he grimaced, "but I also know that you were all only trying to do something good. Look how far you've come!"

He got to his feet and leaned down to kiss the top of my head, before standing up and smiling at me. "You smell like Harry."

Instinct and old habits told me to panic, but I ignored it easily. Will wasn't angry, he was happy for me, thrilled he'd been able to set one of his past wrongs sort-of right.

Going back to sit behind his desk, he looked at his phone and grinned, "a message from your beloved telling me he's sorry for not answering sooner. He knows you're here then?"

"Yes, of course. After all, he was at mine for breakfast." I couldn't help the smile on my face, wide and warm, remembering that we'd spent the weekend enjoying each other fully before our new rules began. "I told him that I wanted to tell you in person that we were together, or at least giving it a real go."

"Are you ready for what being Harry Styles' girlfriend entails? His fans are pretty protective of him, some are... obsessively so."

Relaxing into my seat, relieved the worst part was over, I tried not to think about what exactly Harry's fans would think and say about him being with a thirty-something divorcee who looked nothing like the other girls he'd dated. I was prepared for it to not be entirely complimentary, but the scale of it terrified me. An onslaught of comments telling me I wasn't good enough for him when I'd worked so hard to believe I was, and I knew it wouldn't die down overnight.

"I'm prepared, sort of, but we're both just thinking we will deal with that bridge when we come to it. We aren't rushing into anything, and he wants his family to meet me properly before we even consider anyone else finding out." My smile was back, and Will raised his eyebrow quizzically, unsure how any of what I'd said could make me happy. "I just realised, I'm not scared of any of it this time. It makes me nervous - facing his family, people digging up my past, the hate and judgement - but, it doesn't put me off or make me question if it's worth it."

"We've spoken about this before, but that's how I felt about Terry after you found out. When I realised that if he and I were to be together, that I had to tell mother," Will's expression became soft and dreamy as it often did when he spoke about Terry, "I was scared of what she'd say or do, but I didn't care enough anymore to let it stop me."

"And it was worth it?"

"He's my soulmate, and I haven't regretted a single moment of us finally being able to be out in the open. Even with that old shrew calling me every homophobic name under the sun, because that hate was her problem, not mine." He looked at the photo on his desk of Terry and him on their wedding day and beamed with pride. "It'll be hard and scary at first, Lil, but you love each other and are both willing to put the work in. Your happiness together will drown everything else out."

"Words of encouragement from my ex-husband," I chuckled, hoping it would halt the lump in my throat as I pictured a future with Harry.

"As my dad used to say, who'd have thunk it?"


	39. Forever

"So, what's the plan?" I asked Harry as I called him on my lunch break.

It had been a couple of days since we'd last seen each other, both out of a deliberate choice and from having conflicting plans. I was excited to see him, but also felt apprehension over what would be our first official date as a couple.

"I thought something nice and simple, dinner and a film? I'll cook, or we can get takeaway." He let out a nervous laugh before confessing, "I've spent all weekend trying to come up with something perfect, but this is really all I want to do with you for our first date. Please, say if you think it's rubbish."

"No, it sounds good to me. To be honest with you, my ears are still ringing from the club we were working in last night, so I could do with a chilled evening. Did you want me to bring anything? Wine? Dessert? And before you say it, no I'm not bringing you the duck dressing gown."

Harry let out a small, disappointed groan, then said brightly, "In that case, just bring your beautiful self."

"Sweet talker," I chuckled, looking up to see Rose coming back into the office with our lunch. Realising I was on the phone to Harry, she instantly started making kissing noises, and I threw my stress-ball at her. "Ok, baby, I have to go but I'm going to come straight from work so I'll be there for half six, seven o'clock."

"Perfect, I'll see you then."

"Can't wait, love you."

"Love you too, bye!"

We hung up and I sat back in my chair, unable to contain my grin. Everything felt so much easier than it had before, all the obstacles had gone, and our path to happiness - for the moment - was clear. Letting out a happy sigh, I only realised Rose was in the room when my lunch was plonked down onto the desk in front of me.

"So, what did lover boy have to say for himself?" she asked, sitting in her own chair and tearing open her sandwich packet. "What's his plan for tonight? Dinner for two in a blimp? Do blimps even exist anymore?" For a moment we were both distracted while I looked into if blimps still existed (they do), and then I told her Harry's suggested plan. She didn't hide her disappointment, sticking out her tongue and making a loud raspberry sound. "Lame! He knows he needs to woo you, right?"

"He knows! Honestly, I was relieved when he said he wanted something low-key." Shrugging, I understood what she meant, that Harry and I shouldn't just settle back into hiding away, but it didn't feel that way at all. "I just want to spend time with him for now, and the next date we can do something a bit more exciting."

"A blimp?" Rose asked excitedly.

"Absolutely not."

"Boring."

We ate in silence for a little longer, both of us checking our phones and enjoying a moment of quiet, until I heard Rose take a large intake of breath. I waited for her to say whatever was on her chest, but when the silence continued, I looked over to see her frowning and chewing the inside of her cheek.

"I'm… I'm thinking, maybe, of maybe proposing to Dee."

"Oh, my god!" I let out a squeal before clamping a hand over my mouth.

"Alright, calm down!" She rolled her eyes, but the grin on her face gave away how excited she was. "Listen, as I said, it's just… a thought at the moment. And she might say no if I do!"

"Now, you're just being stupid, you two are perfect for each other!"

"Yeah, well, we said the same thing about you and Joel."

"Me and Joel were nothing like you and Dee!" I continued, hiding that her words had stung a little. "She won't say no, Rose. Do you know what you’re going to do yet? Blimp?!"

Rose laughed and shook her head, swivelling her chair from side to side, suddenly lost in thought. It was odd to see my friend nervous and doubtful about something, especially when usually she was so sure of what she wanted. I knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Dee, she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Dee, it was just a case of plucking up the courage she was usually never short of.

**°**

The afternoon at work dragged and dragged, so by the time six o'clock finally rolled around, I practically sprinted out of the door. Excitement made it damn near impossible to stop myself from flooring it the entire way to Harry's, but a steady flow of rush hour traffic kept me at a steady pace, and as I'd predicted, I was parking my car in his driveway just before seven.

A very comfortable and casual Harry was already waiting by the front door by the time I got out of the car. In plain black jeans and a grey t-shirt, which helpfully had his name on it, he hopped from one socked foot to the other with a grin on his face, and -what had become almost obligatory- pink roses in his hand.

"It's cold!" he said as he moved aside for me to walk into the warmth of his house.

"I know, they were just saying on the radio there might be snow tonight." Making idle chat about how it was cold enough to snow, I set my bag down on the floor. Harry then helped me with my coat and hung it up. "Hello, you," I smiled coyly when finally we were face to face, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. "I should have brought you flowers."

"Hi." Chuckling quietly, he put the bouquet down on the bottom of the stairs and held me close to his front. "You can just leave these ones here. You look very smart, like a proper business-woman. You're just missing the glasses."

The suggestion in his tone was already making my resolve weaken a little, and his hand wandering down over the curve of my behind wasn't helping either. For a few seconds we stayed pressed together, neither one of us wanting to pull away whilst also being unsure if we should kiss. It was tempting to say 'fuck it!' and throw the no-sex ban down the toilet, but instead, I stepped back and lessened some of the tension between us.

I took a steadying breath and said, "I’ll have you know I am a proper business-woman! So, what are we doing tonight? Something smells amazing, are you cooking?"

Frustration obviously getting to him too, Harry let out a quiet groan before taking a deep breath and exhaling with a smile, "Yeah, I wanted to cook for you. Don't want you thinking I'm not making any effort."

Kicking off my heels and wiggling my toes with relief, I gestured toward the kitchen. "Lead the way, chef!"

His face split into a beaming smile, which mirrored how happy I was to be with him doing dull and mundane things. I picked up the flowers, and he put an arm around my shoulders, leading me to the kitchen.

"So, Miss James, how's your weekend been?" Harry asked, pouring me a glass of white wine while saying, "I remembered you don't like red.”

"It's been good! Busy with work, as usual, and of course I spoke to Will, which you know all about." Harry nodded in agreement that he did indeed know how my conversation with Will had gone, and we shared a relieved smile that it hadn't been a disaster. I'd omitted the part where I ran into Joel, that would be for another day. "All in all, it's not been too bad. How's yours been? How're rehearsals going?"

As he set about demonstrating some impressive chopping skills, I saw his face light up with excitement. My heart swelled seeing him so happy as he spoke, his voice as animated as it could be, and I could have listened to him talk for hours that way.

"They're really good, everyone's really pleased with how it's going! The new songs we haven't played live before sound good with the album ones, although we might end up swapping a couple." Distracted, he set the knife he'd been chopping with down on the wooden board and spoke to me directly with a smile so big I almost had to shield my eyes from its brightness. "I'm going to sing a couple of songs on a smaller stage, one that's nearer the back, so the fans sat there feel included too. We did something similar with the band, and I liked it. I'm just working out which songs I want to do…" His happy rambling came to a sudden halt and his grin lessened as something dawned on him. I was about to ask what had stopped him when he spoke again, "I've just realised something."

"What?"

The seriousness in his tone was making me nervous, and not for the first or last time, I worried it was all about to come crashing down.

"Well, uhhh… you probably haven't even listened to the album, have you?"

I hesitated. I'd lied about seeing 'Dunkirk' but that didn't feel as serious as his music. He'd just been a part of the film, the album was all his work. It would no doubt cause a bit of a sting if I told him I hadn't, but it felt like too big a lie to tell.

Breaking away from his questioning gaze, I mumbled against the rim of my glass as I took a sip of much needed wine, "No, no I haven't"

"Oh," he said, turning back to evenly chop carrots with a little more force. "Okay."

Silence hung between us, and I felt terrible. I couldn't read from Harry's expression if he was angry or upset, but his reaction gave some indication that he wasn't entirely thrilled.

"I'm sorry." I said, quietly.

"What for?" The question and its accompanying shrug attempted to come off as casual, but it failed.

"For not listening to your music. I couldn't…" Pausing, I felt my bottom lip wobble, "I just… couldn't listen to you."

He shrugged again, but this time it was a little sadder, "It's okay. I guess, if you didn't listen to it, then at least it puts to rest the worry that you did and still didn't want anything to do with me."

I bit my lip and wondered if we'd ever be able to get to a place where the past wouldn't taint happy moments anymore.

Will and Terry had been vocal about how good the album was, encouraging me that should I want to listen to it, it would be worth doing so, but there'd never been any mention of songs specifically being about me. I hadn't given much thought to it even being a possibility, not anything more than the odd lyric here and there. I also couldn't say that had I known they there were, I would have been able to sit down and hear him pour out his heart.

"So, you wrote about us?"

Harry ceased his chopping and put the knife down. His expression was soft and sad when he lifted his head to look at me, and I knew for certain that when I finally heard what he'd written, my heart would break. I reached out and touched his cheek, the backs of my fingers brushing over his stubble.

"You're not the only person I wrote about," he confessed sheepishly, and I felt a slight lurch at the thought of him with other people, "but you'll know which songs are mostly about you."

"Do you think I need to listen to it? Like, will it change anything between us? Am I going to have to learn to sing and write a clapback song?"

We both laughed, and he shook his head, "No, it's nothing like that. But I want you to hear it, especially if you're going to come to some of the shows."

The thought of getting to see Harry on stage made everything suddenly seem so irrelevant. Those songs he'd written had been about the Harry and Layla who'd been two very different people. We were on a date that was meant to mark the beginning of our new chapter, moving on from all that had gone before. It would no doubt hurt to hear those songs, but I'd be doing it knowing I could call him at any time and be with him.

"I will listen to it, I promise." Picking up a slice of carrot, I popped it into my mouth and giggled when he batted my hand away playfully. "Besides, it'll be easier to do now we're in a better place."

"I hope so," he said before chuckling, "now I'm worried you'll hate it."

"I'm sure I will love it, I loved 'Happily'."

Satisfied, he leant over and kissed me on the lips. He lingered for a second, humming quietly and putting a hand on my hip then moved to kiss my forehead. "I love you."

"I love you, too." A happy sigh slipped from my mouth, relieved we hadn't ended up in an argument. Wanting to change the subject, I asked, “tell me, why do you always get me pink roses?”

“Don’t you like them?” Harry said, going back to his cooking and bending down to check the oven.

“No! I love them, I’m just curious. I’ve just never been able to see pink roses without thinking of you.”

He thought about it for a second - although I suspected he already knew the answer and that what he was trying to do was word it correctly - and topped up his glass before answering. “Because when I think about you, you’re always bathed in soft pink.”

“Ah! Rose-tinted spectacles,” I joked, feeling uncomfortable by such a lovely compliment.

“No, no, it's not that.” Adamantly shaking his head, he looked serious, “It’s just, I don’t know Lil, I picked them at random at first. Actually, Lou did, she chose them. When I got you them for your birthday, and you were smelling them, you had this look on your face of pure happiness. They seemed to fit with exactly how I always wanted you to be, how I always wanted to make you feel.”

“Will never celebrated my birthday, so I was blown away by the fact you’d gone to so much effort. For someone you were just sleeping with.”

“I know. But you were way more than that, I was already falling in love with you."

I shook my head to brush away the feeling of sadness that threatened to creep in as I thought about how my life had been then. That day, that time, that gesture, it had all meant so much to me, and it had been the catalyst to me making the changes I eventually did. I'd known what the roses had meant to me, so it made me happy that they'd had a similar meaning to Harry too.

“They became my favourite flower after you got them for me," I explained, following him to sit at the large kitchen table. "Even when I couldn’t stand to think your name, I’d buy myself some to cheer myself up on down days. It reminded me that I should always live my life as happy as I was that week with you.”

“I want to always make you that happy, Lil.” Reaching for my hand, he held it and stared at our entwined fingers rather than look me in the eye. “You’ve been the colour pink to me for a long time, but while we were apart, it came to represent when I had something wonderful and fucked it up.”

I tapped a finger under his chin so he'd look at me, "and now?”

Smile returning, he spoke softly. “Now it’s back to being just me wanting to make you happy every single day.”

“I know you will, I can feel it.”

“So, you don’t mind the pink roses then?”

Looking at the ones he'd bought me which were now in a vase at the centre of the table, I shook my head, “I told you, I love them.”

 


	40. Black Coffee

The first show I went to see Harry perform was his concert in Milan. I’d hoped to get the time off to go see him earlier, but my schedule had left little room for a holiday. Thankfully, at the beginning of April, there were a few days where I could hand the reins to Rose and Vicky, and jump on a plane to go spend some time with my boyfriend.

When I’d called to check if it would be okay to come see him then, he’d made a joke about it “not being Venice”, but I hadn’t had any clue what he was talking about. Instead, I’d asked if he would rather I didn’t bother, seeing as he would be back in England the following week, to which he’d laughed and told me to absolutely bother, and that he couldn’t wait for me to arrive. It had been almost a month since we’d seen each other outside of late night video calls, when he was still coming down from his stage high after I had arrived home from an event, or sending the odd naughty picture to add to the naughty texts, so I was glad he didn’t tell me to stay home.  
It wasn't until a few days after the call, when I’d been packing for the trip, that I realised Harry’s  comment about Venice was about the ideal date we had talked about on my thirtieth birthday. I had completely forgotten I’d once told him I would have liked to go there with him if we didn’t have to be hidden away in a hotel, so knowing that he had remembered made me all the more excited to see him again.

Will and Terry agreed to look after Stan while I was away, and I dropped him off the night before, armed with his favourite cat treats, toys, and an old t-shirt to sleep on so he didn't forget me (or hate me for abandoning him).

"Yes, I know! I'm a terrible mummy for leaving you," I said, responding to a very long, angry meow from the wicker cat carrier. "Blame Harry!"

I knew that really he probably thought he was off to the vets, but guilt made his loud cries of displeasure feel like a personal attack. He glared at me through the wire bars with big, round, yellow eyes, and I felt like the worst cat owner in the world. I hadn't been away since I'd gotten him, he was set in his ways that he would see me every day, but although I knew he wasn't likely to be bothered by my absence, I liked to hope that he'd miss me.

Will opened the door before I'd even reached the steps up to the house, but his beaming smile fell when he heard Stan and he put both hands on his heart, "He doesn't sound very happy, does he?"

"I've spent the whole journey trying not to cry!" I tried to laugh the comment off as a joke as we kissed each other hello, but there was truth behind it. "Thank you, again, for doing this. He'll be fine once he's had a good old sniff around."

"Happy to do it! Terry wants us to get a pet but I'm... reluctant." He eyed the amount of stuff I’d brought with me, eyebrow raised dubiously, but obviously thought better about questioning the first time mother panicking about leaving her first born.

"Yes, I remember what it was like trying to convince you."

Safe inside, I placed the carrier on the floor and opened it up knowing full well that Stan wouldn't leave until he was ready. Leaving him to come out on his own terms, I followed Will to the kitchen so he could make me a drink. Being in the house that had once been my home was still strange, no matter how many times I visited. Other than some of the paintings on the wall, the curtains, and the dining table, almost everything was the same as it had been when I lived there. I had once asked Terry if it made him feel uncomfortable, if he felt like a guest, but he had shook his head and said quite honestly, "You made it a home for us, Lil."

Sitting at the breakfast bar, I watched the carrier for a few minutes then asked, "where's Ted?"

"He's just in the study, on the phone. He'll be out in a second." Will placed my cup in front of me and grinned. "Excited? First time as a real life groupie?"

I grimaced at the word groupie. "Yes, I'm very excited! I'm nervous to meet everyone, especially Jeff, but it'll be a good few days, I think."

"Have you listened to the album yet?" he asked, the left side of his mouth cocking up mischievously.

"I have, thank you, and I loved it." I opened my mouth to give a further review but I could hear Terry excitedly talking Welsh to Stan in the living room before appearing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Hi, Ted! You know he won't understand a thing you just said to him, don't you?"

"Hello, Cariad. You're underestimating how smart cats are, they understand everything, and everything they don't is because they choose not to." He came to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then handed me a small, plastic bag. "Something for your trip."

Sharing a knowing smile with his husband, he went to stand by Will as I reached inside the bag, and pulled out a yellow t-shirt that had on the front, in retro blue letters, 'I'm With The Band'. The two men both started to laugh as I shook my head and gave them both the finger. As much as I hated to admit it, Harry would probably think it was hilarious and steal it from me (as was his want to do - he'd already claimed a ring of mine, and he had tried to sneak my ducky dressing gown out to take with him on tour. He’d tried to tell me it was so he had something of mine while he was away, but I told him it was because he was a kleptomaniac).

"I'm glad you two think you're funny," I laughed, shrugging off my jacket and putting the tee on over my work shirt. Quickly taking a photo, I sent it to Harry.

**Layla**   
_Look what the Chuckle Brothers got me…_

Harry's answer came back fast.

**Harry**   
_I'm having that._

I left shortly before ten, once I knew that Stan was fine and settled, and after I'd gate-crashed Will and Terry's dinner. Will had once again brought up Harry's album and what I thought of it. He put it on quietly in the background as we spoke, and I was glad I managed not to bawl my eyes out like I had all the other times I heard the first song.

There were songs that made me want to cry from a deep pain that both Harry and I were still scarred by, there were songs that made me want to break our sex ban and do the dirtiest things with him, and there were songs that made me jealous, that made my stomach burn and swirl as I wondered who it was about. But, those were things I wasn't going to tell Will, they were my thoughts and feelings that I would share with Harry when we were alone, together, in bed. I had even thought about keeping them entirely to myself, but that was something the old Layla would have done. This time around, I wanted to be honest.

However, my ex-husband and his beloved wanted some sort of a reaction. So, I told them, "I love it, and I'm exceptionally proud of him. Everything you said when you both kept banging on about it when it first came out was right, it's not necessarily groundbreaking, but it's brave for him to put out an album that's his and not for the radio. I hear all the parts that are us, the things we went through, but it makes us coming back together all the sweeter instead of reminding me of how we hurt each other."

To my relief, they accepted my review. Terry nodded his head thoughtfully and swirled his whiskey glass around so the ice spun and clinked together, while Will skipped ahead to the song Kiwi and joked, "Tel and I think I'm the cactus."

"You said it, William." Laughing, I picked up Stan and gave him a final cuddle. I’d had the same suspicions, especially because Will had been a massive prick back then.

**°**

Harry had offered to send a car to come collect me from the airport, but I'd told him I would just get a taxi. So it wasn't until the cab pulled up outside his hotel, and I could see what I suspected were a few fans who'd managed to work out where he was staying, that I realised just what a big step we were making for our relationship. I wasn't being kept a secret in London anymore, I was going to be sharing a hotel room with him again, but we weren't going to be holed up in it for two or three nights. I was going to finally meet Jeff, and Harry's band, and I was going to see a few of the guys who had worked for Terry and Will for years and who knew I was Will's ex-wife, and none of it was something to be worried or scared about. My only concern was that it would get back to Joel - who I hadn’t had the time or opportunity to tell about my relationship with Harry - but I put that in the pile of issues for future Layla to deal with, if and when it happened.

Wheeling my carry-on case behind me, I went to reception and asked for the spare key to Harry's room as per the instructions I'd been given. My details were checked and double-checked, and eventually I was given a key-card and offered some assistance with my luggage. With just one case and my handbag, I politely declined, and made my way to the lifts.

I already knew that Harry wasn't going to be in his room and that he was still out attempting to do some sightseeing. He had asked me if I wanted him to be there, but I had insisted he go and enjoy the city and I would let him know when I had arrived so he could head back. I'd be able to freshen up, maybe take a quick power nap, and make myself look like I hadn't been awake since four A.M..

His room was as beautiful and elegant as the rest of the hotel and everything I expected from a five star establishment in central Milan. It was a mix of the old and the modern, with ornately detailed furniture sitting side by side with sleek, clean technology. All the curtains were open, and I could see there was a small terrace that was kept private by tall hedges and plants. But, my favourite part, was walking into the large bedroom and seeing a folded up pink sweatshirt on the bed with a note on top. Tracing my thumb over the black, embroidered letters, which spelled out Harry's name, I read the note with a grin.

Lil,  
I know I'll be seeing you soon, but I wanted to write you a note knowing you'll be here when I get back. Everyone on the tour has one of these in black, but pink is our colour.

All my love  
H x

I was too warm to put the jumper on, but I picked it up and held it to my nose, hoping it smelled of Harry. There was only a small trace, but it was enough to make my heart flutter with excitement over seeing him. I'd somehow kept the butterflies to a minimum, but now I was suddenly overwhelmed with impatience for him to get back quickly. I still had moments where it all felt like a dream, one where I would wake up and find out we were still not speaking. I needed to feel his arms around me, needed to have him remind me that everything was fine, and that this time we were doing things properly.

To distract myself while I waited for his return, I unpacked some of the items I'd brought that needed to be hung up and sent messages to the group-chat I shared with Rose, Dee, Will, and Terry that I had arrived safely. I was just about to send a photo of the view from the room, when I heard the main door to the suite open, and Harry called out, "Lil?"

"I'm in the bedroom," I answered, my knees wobbling as I went to stand in front of the bed.

Harry appeared in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear, and at first, neither one of us moved to close the gap between us, we just looked each other over. His hair was already a little longer, and I could see his curls were starting to show. He looked slimmer, taller, and he had caught a little bit of the sun on his face. He was as beautiful as ever, and I couldn't keep away from him any longer.

He must have thought the same because we both stepped forward at the same time, eager to reunite completely.

"I've missed you so much," he said as our bodies met, his arms enveloping me and pulling me close so I was up on the tips of my toes.

Holding onto him tightly with one arm, I placed my other hand on his chest to feel his racing heartbeat and mumbled against his lips, "I've missed you too. After how long we’ve spent apart before, I didn't think it would be too much, but it's been agony."

"I know exactly what you mean."

I felt whole as we kissed, clinging to each other with everything we had. It was our first proper kiss since we'd begun our ban; deep and hungry, and unrestrained. I had no intentions of stopping him, even when he started to walk me backwards toward to bed. I had missed kissing him, missed the way his hands traced my curves before settling on my behind to pull my lower-half against him, and I'd really missed the feel of his weight on top of me. For the moment, the ban floated to the back of my mind, and I lay down on the bed, pulling Harry along with me to settle between my parted legs.

 


	41. Number One

Harry didn’t have a show the first night I was there, so we were able to enjoy some time together. He’d mentioned organising having dinner brought up to our room, but when he told me that Jeff,  the members of his band, and some of the crew were going out to dinner, I said we should tag along. He was reluctant, not because he didn’t want to be seen with me, but because it might draw attention to them and ruin their meal, but I convinced him otherwise.

“Guess I’m going to have to have to get used to sharing you with other people,” Harry had grinned as he sent a message to Jeff to tell him we were joining them.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and I went to answer it, and that’s when I met Jeff Azoff for the first time.

I’d always expected some ominous music to start playing the moment I met Jeff- Harry’s best friend and manager. But, to my surprise, he was actually incredibly welcoming and warm. He showed no sign that at one point he had been completely against my relationship with his friend, in fact he seemed to be thrilled that I’d managed to find the time to come see Harry on tour, on a date that wasn’t in London.

At the restaurant, I met everyone else and tried really hard to remember their names. I met Clare, who had been in the toilets at the party when Dee had asked me if I’d spoken to Harry.

“Your face was a picture!” she laughed before winking at me, “I didn’t say anything, don’t worry. But if looks could kill… your poor friend!”

Putting my head in my hands, I joined in with her laughter, that night feeling like it was already a lifetime ago. “Thank you for not telling him, though he’d probably bloody love knowing that I was frantic with panic.”

Clare leaned in close and whispered, “he was just as nervous as you were, don’t worry.”

We all took our seats at the large table, and I ended up sitting between Harry and Jeff. Though stilted at first, the conversation between Jeff and I flowed without too much awkwardness and without needing to be rescued by Harry. There was a tiny elephant in the room that I felt the need to address, but I waited to bring it up until Harry left the table to use the restroom.

I lowered my voice, and hoped that I wasn’t about to unravel the whole evening, “I just want you to know that I do love him, and that I never wanted to hurt him. I’m aware this probably isn’t the best time or place to discuss this.”

We both chuckled in agreement, and Jeff took a drink of red wine before mirroring how I was sat, keeping our conversation as private as we could at a table full of people. His expression was serious, and my heart was thudding in my chest as I imagined him telling me that he was going to do everything in his power to get rid of me, that I wasn’t worthy of Harry, and the only reason he was going along with it all was so that Harry would finally see that I was garbage.

I was telling my negative inner voice to pipe down when Jeff said, “I know you love him, and I also know how hard it must have been to make the decision to not be with him.”

For a second I blinked at him, dumbfounded, “That’s… that’s not the reaction I was expecting from you.”

We laughed again, heartier this time, then Jeff explained, “I spoke to Terry the day Harry and I went to meet with them. We left Harry alone with Will so they could talk about you, but I also wanted to make sure that Harry wasn’t about to get his heart broken again.” Jeff paused to take another sip of wine, and I recognised the look on his face as the same one I saw in my friends when they thought about my break up with Harry- one that told me he’d helped put his friend back together at one of his lowest moments. “He told me how you were after, and well, we talked for a long time about whether Harry should go ahead with trying to contact you, and Terry convinced me.”

“It’s ‘cause he's Welsh, they have a magical way with words.”

“I owe you an apology for my part in what happened. I didn’t know you, I just knew what I’d been told, and I worried for Harry-”

“Jeff, honestly, it’s okay. I won’t say that it didn’t hurt that the people he was closest to didn’t like me, but I understood why I would be someone you all felt he needed protecting from. All those reasons were part of why I did what I did,” I shook my head, “it was all one giant mess.”

“He’s genuinely like a brother to me, and I made it no secret that I was concerned about what your relationship would mean, because I didn’t want him to… make a mistake he’d regret.” The words stung, and I must have visibly flinched because Jeff grimaced, “I’m sorry, I was trying to find a nicer way to say that. But, he loves you, and he never stopped loving you, so I support him completely. You make him happy, and that’s all I really give a shit about.”

“Can we agree to just move on then? Start afresh?” I held my hand out for Jeff to shake it, and he took it with a wide grin. “I’d like that.”

“I’m glad he had you though,” I said, spotting Harry as he made his way back to the table. I felt a pang of sadness as I thought about him struggling the way I had. I put a hand on Jeff’s shoulder and smiled at him, “I think he and I can always be certain that we have some wonderful people around us.”

 

Back in our room, alone and a little tipsy on red wine, Harry and I headed straight to bed. He had held my hand tightly on the short car ride home, occasionally lifting it up to his lips so he could kiss it, and looked at me with such love that my chest felt like it was glowing. I’d enjoyed the evening, getting to know some of the people around him, but I was also glad when the suite door closed behind us and it was just me and him again.

“I can’t tell you how happy it made me to see you and Jeff getting along,” Harry mumbled into my neck as soon as we were under the covers in nothing but our underwear. “Just seeing you with my friends, them loving you like I knew they would.”

“They’re all really nice.” Closing my eyes, I let his mouth, the wine, tiredness, and happiness wash over me. “I like Jeff, he loves you a lot. He’s your Rose.”

He chuckled against my skin, breath tickling me and making me giggle. “I love you so much.”

His mouth travelled to meet mine, kisses hot and needy. I shifted closer to his warm, naked chest, and remembered why we hadn’t shared a bed since we’d agreed to refrain from having sex. Being pressed against him just didn’t feel close enough, I wanted more. I wanted to make him moan my name, wanted to feel him move inside me, and I wanted to watch his face as he came undone. I wanted him.

Harry must have been thinking something similar because suddenly he let out a whimper of frustration. “Fuck! I want you so much! Remind me why I’m not fucking you right now?”

I was not the person to ask. I wanted him just as bad, the dull aching throb between my legs was calling out to be dealt with, making certain I knew it was unhappy with being half naked in a bed with Harry and getting no attention whatsoever, apart from when I rolled my hips a certain way against the seam of my panties. But, we’d agreed, we’d agreed that we’d both know when the time was right, and this wasn’t that moment.

“Because we’re idiots?” I offered, weakly, as his hand moved from my lower back, travelling over my behind and thigh until it came to a stop at the curve of my knee.

He raised my knee up to wrap my leg over his waist, and then I felt his fingers move back up, teasing the lace on the edge of my underwear, dangerously close to my entrance. I held my breath, the need to feel him touch me growing even stronger as he whispered in my ear, “let me taste you, my love.”

I let out an involuntary moan, the lower half of my body betraying me by grinding against Harry’s palm. Lust was starting to override any sort of resistance, and I really wanted his mouth on me.

“We said…”

Harry rolled us so I was on my back, and he started to trail a path of kisses down my body. “I know what we said, baby.” He paused as he reached the waistband of my panties, and pulled them down so he could press more kisses across my soft, plump tummy. When he was back at the center, he looked up at me with a cheeky, lopsided grin that in itself was almost my undoing, “But, there’s nothing wrong with breaking some of the rules, is there?”

Biting my lip, I shook my head and raised my bottom off the bed so he could remove my underwear, “I guess not.”

Spreading my legs wide, he wrapped his arms around my thighs and buried his face against me. The first feel of his tongue was enough to tell me I liked his kind of rule break. A long, slow, savouring lick that ran up to my clit, and brought his name to my lips in a dreamy sigh.

With half closed eyes looking up at me to watch my reactions, Harry’s mouth worked its usual wonders on me. He was slow and deliberate, alternating between rubbing the flat of his tongue against me, slowly massaging my hub in a way that made me feel pleasure stir deeply in my stomach, and quick, pointed laps with the tip of his tongue that almost lifted my entire body off the bed. Laying back, I closed my eyes and grabbed at the white, cotton bedding as I balled my fists. I’d forgotten just how good he could make me feel, and I couldn’t understand what had possessed me to agree to not doing anything sexual. Why had we denied ourselves this?

I was already pretty close to the edge when he slid his fingers into me, clenched so tight that two felt like a stretch, but it was the best kind of stretch.

“Oh, fuck!” I gasped, breath quickening as I danced along the edge. “Baby, I’m so close.”

Lips parted, my stomach muscles tightened, toes curled, and with Harry’s name hanging in the air, I came. Hard. He kept going until I told him I could take no more, and then finally he stopped, pressing kisses to my inner thigh while gently pulling his fingers from my vice like grip around them. I watched as he licked them clean, then he crawled back up my exhausted body and kissed me.

“Naughty, naughty, Layla,” he grinned, the taste of my undoing still on his lips. I felt myself start to blush at the tone of his voice, teasing me for being so wanton with lust that I’d so readily forgotten our agreement. I tried to deny his suggestions, but he was right. “No use blushing now, Miss James!”

I buried my head against his chest, and he giggled and wrapped his arms around me tightly. His giggle stopped when my hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him in the way I knew he liked. Looking up at him, I smiled sweetly, “we can’t have just one rulebreak, Harry, I like an even number.”


	42. I Only Have Eyes For You

I’d been backstage at plenty of concerts in my time as Will’s wife, tagged along - or rather, been dragged along - to visit the chaos he seemed to love so much, but it had never particularly been my favourite part of going to shows. I’d always felt like we were intruding; the artists were just trying to relax and prepare themselves for their performance, then here comes the dude they vaguely know from boring meetings about the stage -with bored wife in tow- coming to have a gawp at the rockstar.

This time, I was personally invited to gawp at the rockstar, and I liked what I saw.

I sat and watched as Harry and the band ran through sound check. He was still just in his semi casual clothing, so he still just looked like regular Harry. But, when he started singing - the first time I'd really heard him other than at the One Direction show where I was desperately trying to block him out, or when he was in the shower - I was well and truly blown away. I felt excitement and pride bloom in my chest, not just for him, but for the band too, and I wanted to start jumping up and down and cheering even though it was just Jeff, Tommy (Harry's other manager) and me sat watching.

"Good, huh?" Jeff asked as the band paused to make some adjustments, chuckling at my wide eyes and ear to ear smile. I nodded and used my hands to mimic an explosion going off in my head. "He actually gets better."

"Proud parents," I teased, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the seat in front as the music started up again.

I had been nervous about hearing Harry perform the songs that I suspected were based on our relationship. I was still a little worried that at the main show, I would end up sobbing on Jeff’s arm, but for the moment I could only think about how proud I was of him, and how much I loved him.

Once soundcheck was finished, Jeff let me take some photos of the stage so I could send them to Will and Terry, and then we went backstage to rejoin the others. We found Harry in his dressing room, laying on the sofa and typing away on his phone. Rock and roll!

He looked up when we walked in, sitting up with a grin that was verging on smug as soon as he saw me. They were good, and he knew they were good, he just wanted to hear me say it. “So? What did you think?”

Leaning against the dressing table, I shrugged. “Yeah, it was alright,” I said, before breaking into a smile. “You’re amazing, and you bloody know it.”

“Yes!”

After some quick feedback from Jeff and Tommy, they left us alone, giving Harry some time to relax before he had to start getting ready and become Harry Styles - Legend in the Making.

I asked if he wanted me to leave him alone too, but he shook his head and signalled for me to come sit on the sofa next to him. Once I was comfortable, he lay down and put his head on my lap, sighing happily.

Running my fingers through the waves of his hair, I was once again washed over with an intense feeling of love and adoration for the man on my lap, his eyes closed, with a small hint of happiness on his lips. “Nervous?”

“A little. But in a good way.” The corner of his mouth pulled up into a bigger smile. “I’m more nervous because you’ll be there.” I didn’t know how to respond other than to offer not to come, but I knew that’s not what he meant so I didn’t say anything. Lifting his head slightly, he turned to look up at me, green eyes bleary from sleep. “Have you listened to it?”

I nodded and leaned down to kiss him. “I love it. So did everyone on the plane who sat next to me and had to hear it on repeat.”

The smug smile was there again but it wasn’t tinged with any arrogance, just satisfaction, and some relief that I’d listened to his work and enjoyed it. Putting his head back down, he shifted to lay on his back and reached for my hand to place it on his chest. I thought he was going to say more, but instead he closed his eyes and took a nap. I’d expected questions, I’d prepared a detailed review, listened to each song and took notes about what I thought, but I felt relieved that he didn’t seem to want to know the ins and outs of what I thought about his first album. I liked it, it hadn’t made me reconsider our reconciliation, and that was all he needed to know.

 

That was our last moment of quiet. Once Harry was awake, it seemed to be all systems go to prepare for the show. At first, I struggled again with the feeling that I was intruding, or that I was in the way. It had been a long time since I was the abandoned wife, used to being forgotten, so I was out of practice, but that feeling was quickly left behind. The past me had once thought, way back when Harry and I were just a fling, that he would never be the sort to abandon whoever he was dating at a party, and I was right. He made sure to include me in the conversation as he got his hair and makeup done, he would look for me when he was the centre of a busy room, full of people who were excited to meet him, and make sure that I was okay, never leaving me out, never letting me feel like I didn’t belong.

I stayed with Jeff when Harry disappeared to go get changed into his suit for the show, then we slowly made our way to his dressing room so we could wish him luck before we went out to watch. As we turned the corner, I had to bite back a loud guffaw as we saw Harry, dressed in a sparkly, gold and pinky-purple holographic suit, complete with a gold, glittery pussy-bow shirt, leaning against a stage equipment box, brushing his teeth, and being photographed by his photographer, Hélène.

The ridiculousness of the scene announced the arrival of Stage Harry, ready to perform, ready to unleash the inner rock god for the people of Milan! And he was going to do it dressed as a Christmas ornament.

“Oh, hello Christmas!” I teased as he strutted towards me, adjusting his cuffs.

Leading me to his room so he could finish his teeth, he wiped his mouth on a towel and asked with a smirk, “Don’t you like it?”

“No! I do.” I went to stand in front of him, and he gave me a minty-fresh kiss as I adjusted his bow. “You look like a big, sexy, Quality Street tin, and I can’t wait to unwrap you later.”

Harry laughed loudly, running a hand through his hair, “I want to be offended, but when you’re saying it like that…”

He went to kiss me again, tilting his head down as his fingers brushed along the back of my neck and into my hair, but a loud knock on the door and the appearance of Jeff stopped us both.

Jeff rolled his eyes dramatically. “If you two can bear to put each other down, you’re needed onstage in five, and you need to come with me.”

“Yes Jeff, sorry Jeff!” Grinning, I turned back to Harry and quickly kissed him. The mood was definitely different to how it had been the last time I saw him onstage. “Have a good show, baby, I love you.”

“I’ll see you after,” he beamed, before looking up at his manager, “look after her!”

“Of course, I will! Have a good show, buddy.”

 

Out in the arena, I fully grasped the scale of just how popular Harry was. There didn’t seem to be an empty seat in the place, and all the people who stood near us were all watching the large, circular screen with baited breath, which had an animated version of Harry’s hands solving a rubix cube. There were signs and flags from the front, all the way to the back, and from the ground up to the gods.

“I have no idea how he can do it. I’d cry knowing that many people were watching me. I nearly had a breakdown at the thought of two hundred people watching me saying ‘I do’ when I got married.” I said to Jeff, remembering far too late that things were possibly still too shaky between us to joke about my marriage, but thankfully he laughed.

“He has been doing this for quite a while,” he said, leaning in closer as the place erupted into screams when the screen suddenly went dark, “and you know he’s a show off, right?”

Laughing, I nodded that I knew exactly what he meant. Then, as I was about to tell him that while I knew, I just really hadn’t thought about the numbers he performed to, the screen started to rise and the place erupted with screams as those of us near the front got a first glimpse of Harry. He was stood poker straight, hands by his sides, waiting for the screen to rise to up where it was meant to be, while the choral opening of Only Angel played.

 

When I'd still been with Joel, before I knew Harry was once again Will's client, I had been bored to tears with talk of the large, circular screens which would rise and lead to a grand reveal. Then, once in place, it would act as both screens for those way at the top and back and also as a place for the artist's stage graphics. Joel, Will, and Terry had been obsessed with it, with the potential, waiting for a reason to use it, and then it all went silent. Hindsight told me that it was to keep me getting suspicious over the unnamed artist who'd been deemed worthy of finally placing an order for the screens, that the secrecy would have made me push for an answer, when at the time, their complete silence had been a relief. But, finally seeing those said screens in action, I understood why they'd been so eager to use it. Each and every person in the venue was waiting for Harry to be fully revealed, the vision Terry and Will had painted for me over several months, along with Joel, was exactly what I was seeing on stage before my very eyes, and it was phenomenal (though Harry being the said artist might have also had something to do with my breathlessness over the scene).

After the first song kicked in, it all seemed to pass in a blur of emotions. It amazed me just how good Harry was at performing, and not just at the day job part of singing. He was funny when he spoke between songs and when he interacted with his fans. There was no fear,  and there was no language barrier, just a mutual love and gratitude and a wonderful feeling of togetherness.

As I'd expected, I cried during some songs, but managed to keep an element of composure so there weren’t any ugly sobs. My chest ached and my throat constricted, tears blurred my vision of the stage and Harry became a smudged shape, but I held back the urge to weep because I didn't have to anymore. The words were hard to listen to, and they were even harder when I could see the pain on his face as he sang them, but then he'd open his eyes and his face would slowly break into a satisfied smile, and I'd remember that those songs were about our past.

What did strike me as the show neared its end, when Harry sang Sign of the Times and the venue lit up with the house lights on so I could fully see the scale of people around me, was the reality of the life I was about to step into. Harry having fans, up until that point, had just been a kind of concept. I'd been aware of them, and they'd always been there as an almost Father Christmas type threat - "If you don't behave, Father Christmas won't bring you any presents", "If we go public or get found out, my fans will make us being together a nightmare" - but, that had been when we were alone, safe in a hotel room or cocooned in his bathtub in his bathroom, and never so real. I felt like I was on the precipice of big step, a really, really big step that wasn't just going to another hotel that just happened to be in a different country. I was stood with Jeff and the rest of Harry's friends and team, I was likely being noticed by someone, wondering who I was and why I was with them. I'd thought going to see Harry perform was a big deal because I'd be seeing  him perform the songs that were about our relationship and about our break-up, but really it was a big deal because it was a now or never situation. There wasn't any turning back, not really. I had taken the first step towards being publicly known as Harry Styles' girlfriend, and though it scared me shitless -especially if we weren't strong enough- it didn't phase me like it once had.

I watched Harry encourage everyone to go wild to The Chain, telling them that they would likely never see the people around them ever again, and I wanted to explode. I wished I could scream and jump around and let myself go, but I was frozen with an all-encompassing feeling of love, fear, adoration, and most of all, arousal. I didn't want to run away from the precipice of what a life with my Harry could be like, I wanted to hold his hand and take a run and jump into it.

I wanted Harry, and I needed to get to him as soon as I could.


	43. Syrup And Honey

Backstage, I had to stop myself from running ahead of everyone so I could find Harry. My chest burned with an aching need and desire I hadn’t experienced in a long time, the love was so overwhelming that if I didn’t feel him against me soon there was a danger of me crying like a child denied her favourite comfort. 

Thankfully, we found Harry quickly, and from his determined stride, it looked like he was on his way to find us too. He was dripping with sweat, his dark curls plastered to his forehead, and the sparkling jacket already having been removed. He had a towel slung over his shoulder, but he made no use of it as he neared us, letting the wet beads journey their way down the side of his face and into the collar of his golden shirt. If I hadn't already been desperate to fuck him, that sight alone would have changed that.

“Awesome show, as always, H!” Jeff said as we got closer. 

Harry thanked him with a strained smiled, and the two men hugged, briefly, then he turned to me, and said in a low and serious tone, “You need to come with me.” I nodded, and he grabbed my hand before saying quietly to Jeff, “Can you make sure we’re not disturbed? I just need to talk to Layla.”

Jeff rolled his eyes and gave him a knowing smirk, “Yeah, sure. I’ll let you know when we've gotta get out of here. Just don't be too long.”

Harry and I walked away together quickly, almost breaking into a trot as we neared his dressing room, neared the privacy we both needed. Once inside, Harry locked the door behind him so nobody would come bursting in on us, then came to stand in front of me. His breathing was still fast, and he had a hungry look in his eyes that I saw often when I played with Stan - eyes wide and pupils dilated, Harry was waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“Did you enjoy it? The show?” he asked, tugging at the pussy-bow on his shirt so it came tumbling loose before he started to undo the buttons.

I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t think I was even capable of constructing a legible sentence. I certainly couldn’t find the words to convey how watching him on stage, completely lost in his element, had made me feel. I could try for a thousand years, but there was no way of describing why every single fibre of my being was screaming with need for him.

To my relief, all Harry needed was the sharp nod of my head for our bodies to meet with a force. Mouths connecting, we enveloped each other in a tight, needy hold, a hold that had remnants of the fear we both still had that our happiness could end at any moment. At each step we took, there was a lot of gentle foot tapping to test the ground, checking to see if our foundations felt as solid as they seemed. I'd told him I'd listened to the album, and that had pleased him, but the grip of his hand on the back of my head, fingers lacing through my hair, told me that he had still been worried that seeing him sing those songs might have pushed me too far. But, they hadn't. Hearing and watching him do what he so evidently loved to do, had only made me love him more. There's nothing more delightful than watching someone you love do something they wholeheartedly enjoy.

"Here?" I asked as his hands pulled at the hem of my skirt. "Have you got any c-"

Harry paused, but his fingers still crept their way into my panties, "Shit! No. I didn't think I'd need any here. There's plenty back in our room."

"That helps," I giggled. Breathing heavy, my mind momentarily distracted by the maddeningly light brushes over my clit, I tried to focus. I had changed from the pill to an implant, so pregnancy wasn't a concern. But, for some reason -although we'd done it plenty of times before when we'd first been together- it felt like a big step to say we were going to have sex without a condom. Perhaps it was because we'd talked about us having a baby, but I felt nervous finally saying, "It's okay, we can do without."

Smiling, he replied, "We can wait, if you'd prefer? Though I might need to go have some alone time in the toilet if you do."

"No, no, I need you so much. I want to feel you, and I can't wait."

Picking up pace again, we moved quickly towards the dressing table. I removed my tights and panties, then Harry helped me up onto the counter. As we kissed again, I could taste the saltiness of the sweat which coated his top lip, but I wasn’t repulsed, I was only turned on further by it. Adrenaline coursed through our veins, and I was fuelled by an overwhelming range of emotions that needed a physical act of release. We’d said we would know when the moment to lift our ban would be, and I had pictured something more romantic, but I also couldn’t imagine walking out of that room without having been fucked by him. Romance could wait, for the moment I just needed Harry.

Leaning back against the mirror, I watched as he unzipped the front of his purple, sparkly trousers, which did nothing to hide that he was already rock hard, and pulled himself free from restraint. He leaned forward to kiss me again as his cock nudged at my entrance, and we both whimpered at the same time in apprehension of finally having a full, physical connection again.

"We'll do this properly at the hotel, okay, my love?" He mumbled against my lips, before adding with an embarrassed smile, "and I'm probably going to be really quick."

Chuckling, I placed a hand at the back of his head, fingers grasping lightly at his damp curls. "I know, baby, but I want this as much as you do."

He grinned as he stood back up, hooking my parted legs over his forearms and starting to push into me, "I know you do." 

Harry didn't do what he usually did when he first filled me completely. Normally, he would pause and enjoy how I felt around him, savour the feeling of tight, warm, wetness engulfing him, but this time he spared no time getting straight to work. He moved hard and fast, satisfying a need he'd been keeping at bay since walking off stage. I'd known the moment he had looked at me and asked me to come with him that it was my being there that had brought on his desire to break our pact. He'd given his all, as he did in every show, but this time I'd been there, and I was pleased and impressed by his performance. He had done the thing he'd gone on stage that night to do, and this was the reward he wanted. He wore the gold shirt, but I was the gold star for good behaviour.

To my surprise, considering there was a lack of any real stimulation to my clit, and my G spot had none of its usual coaxing in action apart from the hammering of Harry's cock, I felt the early stirrings of climax. I liked how rough and dirty we were being, unable to wait until we got back to our hotel room. We hadn't even been able to make it to the sofa! The naughtiness of sex in his dressing room, the knowing grin from Jeff, the warning from Harry that he'd probably be quick but that we'd go back to our hotel room and spend most of the night having sex, it awoke all of my senses. 

Feeling the blood rush to my cheeks, skin tingling up my neck to my face, I looked at him and whimpered, "Harry, I-I'm gonna…"

I whimpered again, no words, just the sound. It was loud, and as clear as a bell, and if anyone was stood on the other side of the door, they'd have heard it. Harry's hands moved to my hips and he pulled my lower half forward, thrusts driving even deeper than I thought possible, and his mouth clamped with mine just in time. The release I'd needed took me over, and my cries were barely muffled by Harry's kiss. 

As my orgasm subsided, his hit. Warm breath in my mouth, lips barely clinging onto mine as his body tensed up and shook, making me cling onto him tighter. I enjoyed the feeling of him lose control inside of me, feeling and tasting his whimpers as well as hearing them. With one hand gripped on my lower back, and the other pressed against the mirror to steady himself, the last couple of thrusts were lazy but deep. He moved to rest his clammy head on my shoulder. His laboured breaths burned through the fabric of my top, hot and focused against one spot while he held me tight. 

"I'm sorry that was so quick, but you felt so fucking good," Harry laughed, apologetically, "I'm amazed I didn't blow my load sliding into you."

We both chuckled, staying tangled together while we panted to catch our breath and let the lust clear. In its place, the softness returned. 

"I keep getting overwhelmed by how much I love you, and it's scaring me." I cupped Harry's face as it split into a wide, loving grin, his cheeks warm and flushed.

"Me too. But it's not a bad scared, is it?"

Shaking my head, I kissed him gently, reassuring him that I wasn't going anywhere. My fear wasn't about us, it was a worry that perfection could only last so long. A great man once sang 'All Things Must Pass', and I'd taken George Harrison's words to heart when times got dark, but he hadn't just been talking about the bad days. The good days pass too.

"It's more that I'm waiting for something to go wrong. I've… I don't think I've ever been this happy."

Harry smiled as though he knew exactly what I meant, and it was his turn to place his hands on my jaw, lifting my head so I could look him in the eye, so I could see he meant every word. "You deserve to be happy, Layla. We deserve to be happy. Things might go wrong, but they aren't going to go wrong with us. Okay?"

The wave of love rushed through me again, and I felt connected to him in every way, not just physically. "Okay."

We kissed one last time before separating so he could change. His kiss promised what was to come when we got back to the hotel, and it also reaffirmed what he had said - we had been through so much to finally be together, that we were stronger than ever. Things would go wrong at some point, such is the nature of life, but we would stand side by side when they did. As far as our relationship was concerned there was no blade waiting to fall, no shocking revelations that would tear us apart, and no real reason to hide away other than because we wanted the privacy while we could have it. 

I felt safe in his love, and for the first time ever, I didn't need to be afraid of it.

After he’d changed, and I’d tidied myself so I looked less pawed, and before we went to join everyone else so we could leave, I pulled Harry into a hug. Mumbling into his chest, trying to hide the emotion that had replaced the lustful desire, I took a further step to allowing myself to be completely open with him. “Thank you.”

“What for?” He asked, lowering his head so I had no choice but to look at him.

“For us. For coming back to me. I don’t know if I’d ever have been brave enough to do what you did by going to Will and Rose, but I’m grateful that you were.”

Harry’s soft, watery smile was my reward for being so honest about how I felt. He stroked my cheek and looked at me like I’d just given him the greatest gift on earth, when really all I’d given him was the love that was always his to begin with. The walls had fully come down, there were no more barriers, and instead there was just complete and utter trust.


	44. Lights

A sharp shake of the shoulders woke me. I was crying, my skin was clammy with sweat, and Harry was at my side whispering that everything was okay. 

"Baby, it was a dream," he said, softly, stroking my back as I sat up, brushing the hair from my forehead, "it's okay, it was just a dream."

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, half asleep and partly still in my nightmare. "I'm so sorry."

He pulled me to his chest, shushing me and kissing my temple. Slowly the fog started to clear, and I realised I was safe, in a hotel room, in Italy, with Harry. I pressed my nose against his skin, needing to feel wrapped in his safety, and not like I was stuck in a rancid flat in Liverpool.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked once my sobs started to settle, his voice in the dark soothing and calming me. Wiping my face, I exhaled loudly. It had been at least two years since I'd last had the nightmare I seemed cursed to always have, and I was unsure why I was having it again. Usually it would only happen when I was extremely stressed, but I was happy beyond belief, and even when I'd been upset listening to Harry's album, it wasn't enough to stir up old ghosts. "Lil?" 

"I'm... I'm okay," I whispered, voice still trembling and not sounding at all okay. We hadn't been asleep for very long, and I'd gone to sleep so happy, awash in a safe, glowing love, wrapped in Harry's arms as we drifted into a blissful post-coital slumber. The last thing I expected was the horrors of my past coming to ruin everything, and I certainly hadn't expected this to be the time he first experienced my nightmare. "I'm sorry I woke you up, I'm sorry this happened tonight."

Softly, he kissed my temple again. "Oh, baby, you don't have to apologise for anything." Feeling him move, the room suddenly flooded with light. Pulling my knees to my chest, I put my head against them and shielded my eyes from the brightness. I also knew I probably looked dreadful, and I didn't want Harry to see me like that. "Do you need anything?" 

My head popped up, and I looked at him through squinted eyes. The one thing Will had been good at was dealing with the aftermath of my nightmare, and he'd always made me a hot chocolate, telling me, 'something sweet to chase away the bad taste of nightmares.' I'd always missed that after we'd broken up, especially as I struggled through my breakdown and was barraged night after night with the same nightmare, to the point that I had no choice but to finally deal with that time in my life. 

"Something sweet," voice steadier, I reached for Harry's hand and held it, "but in a minute, I need you close to me more."

He nodded and smiled, shifting even closer to me so I could lay my head on his chest, and he could stroke my back. We stayed in silence for what felt like hours, though it was actually only a few minutes, and I felt the haunted feeling slowly slip away. Harry's warmth against my cheek, and listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, made me feel loved and safe. He was the sweetness to chase away the bad taste.

Clearing his throat, he asked quietly, "Was it... was it about your mum?"

"Yeah."

Pulling away from him, I twisted around to take a sip of water from the glass on the bedside cabinet. My throat felt dry, and I wasn't entirely sure if Harry was ready to discuss my childhood properly just yet. We'd stayed away from the subject, and that had been fine with me, seeing as I'd dealt with a lot of those demons and saw no need to dredge them up for no good reason. But, the subject was harder to avoid when I was trembling so much that I had to bite down on my glass to stop it chattering between my teeth.

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

My instinct told me to tell him no, not to open up that can of worms while we only had a short time together before I went home, but we were trying to be open and honest with each other. It didn't need to turn into a therapy session, but I felt shaken, and I had to learn to lean on Harry a little.

"It's just a dream," I said quietly. "Well, it was real, but I know that now it's just a dream, but… why has it come back? It's been a while since I last had it, and it's always worse when that happens. Like I've forgotten how horrific it was."

He was at my back in a flash, kneeling behind me and massaging the tension from my shoulders. The amount of comfort I got from him still took me by surprise, I'd never truly felt what it was like to have someone who soothed my soul, but even just a kiss at the top of my head while his fingers worked the knots in my neck gave me the strength I needed to not get swallowed by a silly nightmare. 

"Is it us? Is there something you're not happy about?" He whispered, resting his cheek against my head.

"No, my love, it's nothing to do with us. That's why I'm so confused, I really couldn't be happier with everything." Laughing weakly, I tried to joke, “maybe I’m heading for a fall.”

"Baby… Uh… Can I ask you something?"

Reaching to put a hand on his, I ignored the anxiety about what Harry could ask that would make him sound so incredibly nervous."You can ask me anything."

He moved so he was sat properly, and I twisted to look at him. His eyes were heavy with sleep, and his hair stuck up in different directions. I felt guilty for waking him up, but despite how he looked, he didn't seem to be in any hurry to get back to sleep.

"Bianca, your sister, have you ever," he swallowed nervously as I flinched involuntarily at the sound of her name being said out loud, but he continued on, "have you ever tried looking for her?"

I shook my head and took another sip of water. Holding the glass in both hands, I looked down at my skin magnified and let out a long, heavy sigh. The details of Bianca had been my secret for a long time, it felt strange to be sharing them with Harry. Sharing anything with Harry still felt weird.

"I've thought about it, I've even gone to make the initial steps, but every time…" I shrugged, "I dunno, I just couldn't do it. I know roughly where she is, I know that she's still somewhere around Liverpool, or at least she was until a couple of years ago. That's enough for me."

"Do you want to know more? Don't you want to find her properly?"

"I do and I don't. I want to be a big sister to my little sister, I want to have a connection with someone who shares the same blood as me, and I want her to know that there isn't a day that's gone by where I haven't thought about her." Pausing, I took a deep breath and tried not to let the emotion overcome me. 

"We don't have to talk about it if it's too much, Lil," Harry said, running his palm up and down my thigh slowly, kissing the spot between my brows which had crinkled into a frown.

"It's okay, it actually feels good to talk about her outside of my therapist's office." I gave a watery smile and glanced at the time. "Shit! It's almost three, you should probably try sleep more."

"No, baby this is important. I can skip the gym for one morning, or go a bit later. Why don't you want to find her?"

Rubbing my eyes, I saw a flash of the moment Bianca had been carried out of the flat. Her face was red as she screamed in pain, and her small, chubby hand was reaching out to me. The image made me sick, and I was relieved that when my eyes flew open they instantly focused on Harry's sleepy, concerned face. 

"Because she either might hate me, or she might not even know who I am. I know that it will never be like how I picture us meeting again, so why rock the boat?" He went to speak, probably to tell me that I wouldn't know if I didn't try, but I'd heard it all before from Rose. "I know it sounds cowardly, but I don't want to find out what she thinks of me. If she even thinks of me at all! Let's face it, she might not even know I exist, or even know that she's adopted."

"She was definitely adopted then?" 

"Yeah, that's what I was told when I vaguely looked." 

Suddenly feeling so tired my bones ached, I laid down and stared up at the ceiling. I was glad I hadn't gone too far into my search for my sister, but thinking about it made my chest ache in a way that could only be rivalled by when I'd missed Harry. 

He came to lay next to me, wiping a tear away as it slid down my cheek, heading for my hairline. 

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly, "I didn't mean to make you more upset."

"You haven't. My therapist encourages me not to bottle everything up, crying and talking about it is good.” I was trying to sound rational, like I had everything under control, but I couldn’t seem to stop the stream of tears, “I just think my looking for her would just be selfish. I encouraged them to take her away because I didn't want her life to be ruined, and if she's living her life like any twenty-two year old should be, I don't want to destroy that just because I feel guilty!"

"Hey, hey, Lil, it's fine. You don't have to do anything, and there's no right way to handle this." 

Sitting up, I got off the bed and went to fetch some tissue from the bathroom. Whilst I was there, I splashed my face with cold water and tried to calm myself down a little, aware that there was a point where not bottling things up became close to hysteria. 

I couldn’t figure out why I was having that nightmare again, and as I’d often wondered before, it felt like a reminder. My life was wonderful, and having Harry back in it made it even better, but I was always going to still have that part of me in the background. No amount of glitz, glamour, or beautiful things in my life would ever take that away, there was only the chance it would get worse if someone dug it up because of my relationship with Harry. He’d already warned be about death threats, Jeff had spoken to me about my social media, even the one for the business, and that it all could be a target for angry people who felt ownership of the person I was dating. People would want to make me into a bad person, and they’d dig and dig until they found what they were looking for.

Wandering back into the bedroom, Harry was in the middle of making my hot chocolate. He looked up and smiled at me, and there was that feeling of love again.

“Are you okay?” He asked, stirring the spoon in the cup with a rhythmic clink clink.

I got back into bed and smiled brightly at him to show I was feeling better as he brought my drink over and placed it on the cabinet next to me. “Will you be okay if my past comes out? I don’t know why I didn’t think to ask you when we talked things over.” 

“I’ll be fine as long as you are. It did worry me when you first told me, if I’m honest, but not anymore.” Climbing over me to get to his side without walking around, he stopped halfway and kissed me. “If that happens, then we will deal with it. I’ve had to tell a couple of people in advance, the people who need to know about these things, but that’s to protect both of us. Other than that, your past is not something you should be ashamed of, Layla, you didn’t choose to go through those things. But, it made you the woman I love, the strong, kind, compassionate, wonderful woman that I love.”

My cheeks grew warm at his compliments, and I let out a bashful giggle, “stop it.”

Getting under the covers, he turned my head to look at him, “If what you went through suddenly becomes public knowledge, then I’ll be proud to say I’m with you. So, please, don’t worry.”

“Have I ever told you I love you?” I asked, reaching up to rest my palm on his cheek.

“Maybe,” he brushed my lips with his, “but, say it again, I like hearing you say it.”


	45. Horses

I was back at work the day after I got home from Italy, but there were no post holiday blues, I felt like I was floating on air. I was sad to leave Harry behind, but it would only be a few days before he’d be back in England for his UK shows, so saying goodbye hadn’t felt like too much of a wrench.

To distract myself from feeling too miserable, Rose, Dee, and I planned an evening at mine so we could catch up. Takeaway, my best friends, and maybe a movie, if they got sick of me droning on about how perfect my time away had been and about how in love I was. I also had some gifts that I’d picked up on the morning of the show. I’d taken myself off for a little wander while Harry was working out, before we’d had to leave for the stadium. 

My first day back was busy from the get go, I’d only been away for four days, but it felt like I’d been on a year long trip to the other side of the world, with no phone, and no way of anyone being able to contact me. I was about to take five minutes between meetings so I could get something to eat, when my phone rang, and I saw Joel’s name appear on the screen. I knew before I picked it up what he was calling about, he’d already tried to call me the day after the concert, but Harry had been there so I didn’t answer. As much as I wanted to ignore his call again, I owed him an explanation, I loved him enough to give him that.

I answered, trying to sound cheerful, “Hi, Joel, what’s up?”

“Were you in Italy?” he asked. He wasn’t angry, instead I just heard how hurt he was. “Were you with Harry Styles?”

Heart in my throat, I felt like I was getting the confrontation I’d never had from Will, I felt like I had cheated on him. Reminding myself that while I hadn’t handled things in the best way, I hadn’t been unfaithful, and Harry wasn’t the reason I’d broken up with him, I said, “Yes, I was in Italy, and yes, I was with Harry.”

“Are… Jesus, I can’t believe I’m about to say this. Are you dating Harry Styles? Or is it some sort of a fling?”

“Can we meet and talk about this? I don’t want to do this over the phone, and I really didn’t want you to find out this way.”

“You’ve had plenty of time to tell me, Layla. You could have told me when you came into the office.” Suddenly, he laughed, and I could hear anger start to creep into his voice. “Dumped for Harry fucking Styles.”

I hated how he made it sound, like the idea was absurd, like it had been that simple. “I did try to tell you that day, but Will interrupted us, and then you walked off.”

“Yeah, well, Layla, you didn’t try hard enough, and I had to find out from someone who thought I already knew.”

“Joel, ple-” He hung up before I could finish. He was right, I could have tried harder, but I’d been so caught up in Harry that I hadn’t really been paying anything else attention.

I didn’t have long to wallow in guilt, and I had to get back to work. I was looking forward even more to a night with my friends.

Rose and I were going to go to mine straight from work, so we arranged to meet Dee there, and we would stop and get food on the way. We left at six, both of us complaining about how hungry we were after having too busy a day to have lunch, salivating as we described in detail what we were going to order from my local Indian restaurant. 

“Dee used her spare key to let herself in, is that okay?” Rose said, eyeing up the food of the people sat a couple of tables away from us while we waited for our order. “She’s fed Stanley for you, she was just busting for the toilet.”

“Of course, that’s okay! Can you tell her to sort out plates and all that stuff?”

Looking at my phone, I saw a message arrive from Harry saying he’d landed safely and was heading to his mum’s. I was about to respond when our order arrived, and Rose almost sent her chair flying to the floor as she leapt up to go collect it. For one night only, food pushed my beloved to second place.

The journey home was painful, with Moaning Myrtle whinging and groaning in the passenger seat about how she was wasting away, and the mouthwatering smell of spices and soft, doughy naan bread. I was practically diving out of the car door before I’d even finished parking on my driveway. Rose carried the food while I opened the door, having the nagging feeling like I’d forgotten to do something. Remembering Harry’s text, I quickly typed out that I loved him and that I’d call him after I’d eaten, then headed to the kitchen.

Dee, like an absolute angel, had already laid out plates and cutlery, and there were also ice cold bottles of beer, freshly opened, waiting for us.

“Hi, honey, we’re home!” I joked, kissing her on the cheek before going to help dish everything out. 

“Hard day at the office, dears?” she said, cocking an eyebrow at her girlfriend, who seemed to be drinking her beer in one gulp. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Busy.” Rose panted, before pointing at me, “Hers was worse.”

“Joel found out about Harry and me. He’s not happy.” I had wanted to wait until I was eating, but suddenly Rose’s idea of drinking beer seemed like a really good idea, so I took a large swig of mine.

Dee emptied the bag of poppadoms onto a plate, saying, “Oh shit! How did he find out?” 

I gave her a shrug and a grimace, “Someone on Harry’s tour, a lot of the crew know who I am, and they know Joel. I’d known there was a risk of it happening, but-”

“Dee, please tell her that she actually hasn’t done anything wrong! Okay, yes, she could have told him about Harry and about them getting back together, but you didn’t even know that was going to happen.” Rose had spent the entire day saying the exact same thing every time I’d shown signs of nearing a breakdown of guilt, and her hunger/anger was making her lose patience. "He basically knew, he just didn't know who!"

“But, I had plenty of time before I went!” I argued, again. “Listen, it’s okay, I’m in the wrong, and he has every right to be pissed off. I should have told him, end of story. I’ll go and see him tomorrow, and I’ll apologise and explain. There’s only two ways it can go, he can either accept it and know that Harry had nothing to do with us breaking up, or he can tell me to fuck off.”

Rose bit into a poppadom with a crunch, before Dee came to the rescue and changed the subject, “Oh! I fed Stanners, but I had to use the last of his biscuits.”

“Thank you! I knew I’d forgotten something!” I grabbed my car keys from where I’d tossed them on the kitchen table and rushed back out into the hallway, calling behind me, “make a start without me, I’ll just get them now, or I’ll forget again later.”

My belly grumbled loudly as I opened the boot door, and as I lifted the bag of cat food out, I saw Stan in his usual spot on the windowsill having his after dinner clean. He paused when he saw me, silently meowed, then resumed his bath.

As I locked the car, I heard a voice, “Hello."

Looking to where the greeting had come from, I saw a woman standing by my gate. It took me a second to realise that I vaguely knew her, that Vicky had interviewed her for a receptionist position just before I went away. There'd been a lot of people interviewed that day, and my mind had been crammed with a million things still left to do, but I remembered her because I'd been heading out to get lunch and call Harry just as she arrived. As I waited for the girl -whose name I vaguely recalled was Amber- to fill in the visitors sheet so I could then sign myself out to lunch, I'd noticed we were wearing the same shoes, and then Vicky had made a comment about us looking alike. 

I hiked the bag of cat food higher onto my hip, carrying it like I was carrying a heavy toddler, and stepped onto the path so we could see each other better. A part of me was worried I was about to get some abuse for not offering her a job, but although she seemed nervous, there wasn't anything menacing about her demeanour.

Ignoring Rose and Dee’s calls to hurry up before they ate my food, I fixed a friendly smile, “Hi! Can I help you?”

“Are you Layla James?”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I heard her talk properly. We'd only spoken briefly before, and she'd sounded different then

Once upon a time, I had talked like her, had once had that same accent. An accent I’d hidden away the moment I'd arrived in Ibiza, an accent my late mother-in-law had hated and called common, an accent that represented the real me. An accent that was unmistakable as being from Liverpool. I realised that the girl was familiar for another reason, that Vicky had been right when she had said we shared a resemblance. She reminded me of an old, blurred photograph I had in a frame on my mantelpiece, the only one I had of Paula. The girl looked like my mother, and she looked like me.

Heart racing, I nodded slowly, “Y-yes, I’m Layla James.”

The girl opened the black, metal gate, and stepped onto the path. Extending a hand, she said, “Hello, Layla. I’m your sister, Bianca.”


End file.
